


Angels in the Underground

by joliemariella



Category: Undertale
Genre: Blind Frisk, Female Frisk, Injured Sans, Young Frisk, angel au, sans being a total dad whether he goddamn likes it or not, sans/oc but it's not the focus plz give it a chance I think you'll like it 8'D, undyne/alphys but it's not the focus, wing fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 96,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joliemariella/pseuds/joliemariella
Summary: 200 years ago, angels were banished from the surface world after the commander of the heavenly host, Asgore, declared war on mankind. Now, young Frisk has fallen into the Underground and must conquer the angels' seven trials if she, and the angels themselves, are to have any hope of escape. Along the way she meets Sans, a wounded seraphim who agrees to guide her through the trials at Toriel's request. Friends are made, history unfolds, and Sans comes to hope again.





	1. A New Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Undertale AU fic! As alluded to in the summary, this is an AU where the monsters are angels, though they do retain their beloved original designs, just with the addition of some kick-ass wings, lol.
> 
> I'm planning nine chapters, one for each trial, plus an interlude and epilogue. They'll be quite long, and I'll update as I'm able. :)
> 
> Follow me on my side tumblr [jolieburnsinfandomhell](http://jolieburnsinfandomhell.tumblr.com/) for updates, sneak peeks, and fanart!

Sans’ breath clouded the air before him as he sighed and resettled himself more comfortably against the door at his back. It was cold that day, and though lacking as he was in the usual physicalities that most possessed temperatures at either extreme didn’t normally bother him, even he had to admit this was a bit much for comfort. He might not be a candidate for frostbite, but it was the sort of deep, penetrating cold that made even _his_ bones ache.

“ah, got it,” he said, grinning to himself as he pulled his shabby, threadbare blue jacket more tightly around him. “what did the ghost give his date to the prom?”

A moment of silence, and then, from the other side of the door a distinctly feminine voice asked, “What?”                                           

“a _boo-_ tineer.”

The chuckle that came from behind him wasn’t quite as energetic as he was accustomed to, making Sans’ smile drop. Two hundred years they’d been trapped in the underground and for at least one hundred and fifty of them, he and his fellow seraphim, Toriel, had been meeting to exchange bad jokes in a sad sort of last ditch effort to keep their spirits up.

Toriel had remained in the ruins after everyone else had migrated deeper into the Underground after the fall, and locked the doors soundly behind them. He hadn’t laid eyes on her since that day, though he had come to check on her regularly since then. It hadn’t taken long for their little joking habit to start up as a way to pass the idle hours.

“c’mon, tori, you gotta work with me here,” Sans said, his attempt at a chuckle coming out as a tired huff when he dropped his head back against the door. “i’m running dry on material here and you’ve barely managed a word. what’s got your goat?” he asked in one last attempt to lighten the mood.

She didn’t reply immediately, and the skeleton let his gaze drift upward to watch the small flakes of snow drift silently to the ground around him while he waited. All these years and he’d yet to figure out how it managed to snow in the underground; an eternal puzzle that would likely confound him until judgement day finally came around, assuming it didn’t pass them by entirely in their exile. Maybe it had already happened and they hadn’t even noticed here in the little purgatory Sans himself had long since considered a private hell.

Finally Toriel spoke again, though her question wasn’t one he had expected. “How is your wing, Sans?”

The seraphim’s shoulders tensed reflexively at her words, and for a moment Sans could only sit in silence as the snow fell around him with tiny, crystalline clinks that felt loud as thunder. Eventually, he started to breathe again, and gave his shoulders a practiced roll that unveiled the vast, pale wings that marked him for the angel he was.

It was a striking sight to behold. The wing that sprouted from his right shoulder was broad and strong, longer than his four foot nine inches in height by many times over. Its feathers were a soft, luminous white that made even the virgin snow at his feet appear gray by comparison. The left, though just as long, was a charred ruin made only more tragic by the untouched beauty of its counterpart. What feathers remained along its length were marred by a black ash that could not be washed away. Only those nearest his spine retained their former healthy luster, untouched by the misfortune that had mutilated the rest.

Sans stretched both wings to their full extent, stirring eddies of snow around him with every careful movement. He bit back a grunt of discomfort when pain inevitably lanced through his ravaged limb, compelling him to relax them once more.

“same as ever,” he told Toriel, the white lights that served as his eyes dimming some as he spoke. He rolled his shoulders again, and his wings vanished from sight, tucked away where the ever present pain was less immediate. It never truly faded, though, not once in two-hundred years. “still looks like a reject basket of fried chicken wings,” he joked half-heartedly, though he knew Toriel hated when he did so about his own handicap.

To his surprise, his fellow seraphim didn’t chastise him as he was accustomed. Instead, in a soft, solemn voice he was only barely able to make out through the door, Toriel asked, “Does it still hurt?”

“nah,” he answered without hesitation as he pulled his hood up over his bare head to fend off the chill and the thickening snowfall that was beginning to accumulate on his person. The flakes seemed to be growing in size by the minute. “barely even notice anymore,” Sans added.

“Liar,” she murmured, and Sans couldn’t bring himself to contradict her, knowing it would likely only make her angry. When Toriel became angry, she often wouldn’t return for their little get togethers for days at a time. Once, she’d gone two whole weeks without so much as a word to him, no matter how many jokes he’d made while sitting in front of the door to the ruins.

“well, at least my pants aren’t on fire,” the skeleton remarked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Toriel mused.

Sans turned a little where he sat so he was looking at the door now. It was huge, nearly thirty feet tall, at least fifteen across, and crafted of solid stone. Every detail of its arched frame was familiar to the skeleton thanks to many an hour spent examining it while speaking with his friend voluntarily imprisoned on the other side. “you could,” he said, voice low, almost pleading. Her self-imposed exile was a long standing argument between them that they likely wouldn’t agree on until the facade of the door itself crumbled under the weight of ages, leaving nothing to bar their passing but empty words. “-if you’d just open the door. you don’t have to come out, i could come in, and-”

“ _No,_ ” Toriel said, normally soft, pleasant voice harsh with emotion. “I will never willingly open these doors again. And neither will anyone else, not so long as I breathe.”

The implications of the seraphim’s promise were not lost on Sans. “but, if a human-” he began, fully turned to face the door now as he sat on his knees in the snow.

“I said _never,_ ” Toriel repeated, voice shooting up an octave. Before her friend could try to talk her down, she asked, “What happened to the last human that won their way through my trial, Sans?”

The skeleton hesitated, one hand instinctively held out towards the door, as though he might reach her despite its presence between them.

“Sans?” she asked sharply, though he had known her too long not to recognize the hint of tears behind her words.

The seraphim sighed and slumped forward until his head rested against the smooth, chill surface of the door, hand dropping into his lap. “I never saw them,” he said, dodging her question. At her stoney silence, though, he admitted, “they never made it past the third trial.”

“How many have made it to _your_ trial?”

Sans grit his teeth, eyes slipping shut as he heaved a sigh of resignation. He knew there was no way he could avoid the conversation without getting up and leaving, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do yet.

“one,” he answered eventually, voice low and reluctant at the admission.

“And did they win their way past?” Toriel asked, though Sans knew for a fact that she was already well aware of the answer. She had been the only one he had told the whole wretched story to, after all. It had been over a century since that day, but he still recalled every detail, and he had no doubt that she did as well.

“no,” he ground out. “i brought her heart to Asgore myself.”

Bitter silence fell between them, and Sans might have gotten up and left had he not found himself rocked by the memory of the last time he had been forced to pass judgement on a mortal soul. No doubt the human woman he had cut down had once been a kind creature, but the pressures of the trials she’d been forced into against her will had twisted her into something looking only to survive. That did not absolve her of her sins, though, so he had carried out his god-given duty...

Behind the door, Toriel sighed, and while her voice sounded more controlled when she spoke again, it was clear she would not be swayed on the subject. “All those humans, and its never helped us, has it? Never brought us closer to freedom. Asgore has doomed us all, but it is not our place to punish the humans that fall into the Underground for his crimes.” The seraphim took a breath before continuing. “I can’t take anymore, Sans. I’ll send no more humans to be slaughtered.”

They fell quiet again, but the skeleton could think of nothing to say, knowing full well that Toriel was never one to change her mind easily. It’d take someone greater than himself to do so.

So, instead, he asked, “hey Tori?”

“Hmm?”

“why was three afraid of two?”

A beat of thoughtful silence and then, “I don’t know. Why?”

“because he killed every one!”

More silence.

“Too soon, Sans.”

* * *

“Can’t you see that I’m doing this for your own good?” Toriel begged as she watched the child before her hastily dodge a gout of flame that consumed the stick she had taken to carrying around everywhere. The little girl yelped and dropped its smoking remains, making the seraphim’s heart drop into her stomach as she fought the urge to rush to her aid. “Please, just go back upstairs! You can be happy here, I promise. I’ll take care of you, I’ll teach you how to make cinnamon butterscotch pie...you can have a _life_ here!”

“Please, please stop!” the child cried, shying away from a fireball that veered too near. Instinctively, Toriel guided it away from her, the seraphim’s broad, cream colored wings fanning the air in her distress. “I don’t want to fight, but I can’t stay. This isn’t my home!” the little girl insisted, tears spilling down her soot-smudged face.

The sight of the child’s tears broke Toriel’s heart, and she knew she could not possibly win. Not against this human, not at the cost she would have to pay to keep her there. “Do you...do you really hate me so much, Frisk?” the seraphim asked in a small voice as she let her fire die out around them. “Would staying here be so awful? Awful enough for you to risk facing all seven trials?”

Frisk lowered her hands, hesitating until she realized the fires had well and truly faded. Then, she stepped forward, hands outstretched to Toriel. “I don’t hate you, Toriel,” the little girl insisted tearfully. “You’re so nice, and your cinnamon butterscotch pie is super good… But I made my grandma a promise,” she said and lifted one hand to the crown of golden flowers that rested on her head. “And I...I have to go home.”

Tears spilled down Toriel’s pale cheeks as she watched the child step forward, hands reaching for her, just as her son had done before the fall…

“I know. Oh I know, you dear, sweet child,” the seraphim said and wiped away her tears before taking Frisk’s hand in her own and pulling her into a tight embrace. Toriel had to kneel so the girl could bury her face in her shoulder, but she paid the dirt and soot that stained the knees of her dress no mind. The angel wrapped her wings around them, cocooning them in their warm softness for a long minute until they had both managed to stop crying.

Ever prepared, Toriel fetched out a clean handkerchief and carefully dabbed at Frisk’s face. “Keep it,” she told the girl when she was done, and pressed the square of white linen into her small hand. “You never know when you’ll need a hankie.”

Frisk did as she was bid and pocketed the handkerchief with one hand while still maintaining a hold on Toriel’s with the other. “What do I do now?” she asked, brow furrowed under the fall of her brown hair.

“Follow the path out of the Ruins and you’ll find the second trial before you reach Snowdin,” Toriel said as she got back to her feet and furled her wings. She was quiet a moment before saying, “Oh Frisk… please be careful. As soon as you pass through that door, you cannot return, do you understand?”

Worry was clear on the little girl’s face as she lifted it. “What?” she asked. “Will I ever see you again?”

Toriel gave the girl’s cheek an affectionate pat. “I do not know, my child,” she murmured, tears threatening once more. “I pray to the creator that we will.” The seraphim smiled, then, and after pressing a kiss to the top of Frisk’s head, she said, “If you are very good, and very brave, then I have faith that we will.”

Frisk nodded, a little hesitant, but rallying quickly. She released Toriel’s hand, but before she’d made so much as a step, the seraphim stopped her.

“Wait! One more thing,” the angel said, then swept one of her wings forward and plucked a single feather from among the many. “Take this. Should you meet someone named Sans in your travels… give him that from me, okay?” Toriel explained patiently as she pressed the feather into the girl’s upheld palm.

Frisk took it, and ran her fingers over its silken length. It was quite small compared to the seraphim’s great pinions (which were longer than the girl was tall), though still nearly as long as her hand. “Okay,” she agreed with a nod, then tucked it carefully into her sweater’s pocket where she was sure it would not slip out.

“Good girl,” Toriel said, then unlocked the great gate that separated the Ruins from the rest of the Underground. Despite their obvious weight, and the startling shriek of rusted hinges that had gone long unused, the seraphim pushed open the doors open with ease, then stood aside to let Frisk pass.

As she did, the little girl threw her arms around Toriel’s waist one last time, and the seraphim gave her back a reassuring pat.  “I’ll miss you, Toriel,” the human mumbled into her skirt.

“I’ll miss you too, dear one,” Toriel said as she returned the embrace, then let the girl step through the door and out into the snow. “Be safe, Frisk,” she implored the child, then quickly closed the door behind her before she caved to her impulses and snatched the human back inside where she would be safe.

The dull boom of the gateway to the Ruins closing behind her rang with such finality that a shiver unrelated to the chill in the air rippled up Frisk’s spine. She turned to face the door briefly, brow furrowed unhappily as she said, “Bye, Toriel.” 

* * *

 The sound of someone coming towards him on the path to the ruins brought Sans up short. He could count on one hand the number of times he had met someone on this particular stretch of woods in the last hundred years. The trail wound through the darkest depths of Snowdin forest, and had little to offer a casual visitor. Just snow, trees, and more snow; all of which one could find in abundance much closer to the relative comfort of Snowdin village.

Curious, Sans stepped off the little traveled path and ducked behind the nearest tree. There was little he could do about the trail of footprints he’d left  in the fresh inch of snow on the path, but he would see whoever was approaching from the Ruins long before they noticed that little detail.

Whoever it was, they took their time, and Sans had very nearly given up on waiting for them to come around the bend in the path when they finally appeared. An inch or two shorter than Sans himself, the stranger was not tall. They were clad in a bulky periwinkle and pink sweater with fitted pants, and a pair of sturdy looking boots, none of which seemed quite warm enough for the weather. The crown of golden flowers the newcomer wore on their head was a splash of vibrant color that stood out in stark contrast against the pristine snow and dark, bare tree trunks that surrounded them. That unique, familiar shade of gold held Sans’ attention so completely that the wearer’s species went completely unnoticed until they had passed his hiding spot.

A human. A human had left the ruins.

The shock of this revelation shook Sans to the core, and locked him in place until the human had disappeared around the next bend in the path. A hundred questions roared through the seraphim’s mind as he stood frozen, though a few cried out more loudly than the rest.

How? Why now? What had happened to Toriel?

The final question snapped Sans from his trance and sent him scrambling back onto the path to sprint after the human. Even wearing heavy boots as he was, the seraphim moved silently through the snow and quickly caught up to his prey, who was still walking slowly down the center of the path.

All the stealth in the world couldn’t save him from his own carelessness, though, and when he stepped on a heavy branch buried under the snow, the sound of its breaking rang out through the silent forest like a gunshot. Swearing silently, Sans dove off the path just as the human spun to look at him, expression frightened. When they found nothing but the broken branch in their wake, they started walking again, though not much faster than before, making the skeleton wonder. For all they had appeared panicked at the sudden crash, he would have expected the human to break into a run.

Realizing he was being ridiculous (really, what was he even hiding from?), Sans climbed up onto the path once more and started after the human at a more sedate pace. When he caught up to them next, they were at the bridge across the gorge, appearing hesitant to step out onto it. They heard him approach much sooner than he would have guessed, judging by the tension that seized their narrow shoulders.

Unable to resist, Sans slipped his hand into his pocket, and spoke, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air between them. “human.” They didn’t turn immediately, but he could see their shoulders go from tense to shaking as he continued to approach. “don’t you know how to greet a new pal?” the seraphim joked, though concern for Toriel’s fate put an edge to his voice. He came to a stop right behind them, and a small, fearful sound escaped the human. Pity welled unexpectedly with him, so Sans stuck his hand out and said, “turn around and shake my hand.”

Slowly, the human turned around, chin tucked, eyes down, and as he waited, Sans thought he might be left hanging. After a moment, though, they reached out and took his hand.

The sound of the whoopee cushion he’d palmed rippled through the silent forest with surprising volume, startling a laugh out of the human, who almost immediately snatched their hand back.

Sans laughed and pocketed the joke toy once more, grinning at the human in front of him who seemed to have relaxed a little. “the old whoopee cushion in the hand trick,” he said with an appreciative sigh. “it’s _always_ funny.”

The human tried and failed to muffle a giggle. “That’s gross,” she said, though judging by the way she was smiling, she’d found it just as funny as he had.

Sans found himself almost immediately inclined to like her, but the questions he’d asked himself back on the path forced him to reserve judgement and quickly put the impulse in check. “so, you’re a human, huh? that’s hilarious,” he said, still grinning as he watched the human closely.

Under her crown of flowers, the girl’s dark brown hair was cut in a bob to just below her chin, and her bangs fell in a straight line across her forehead. Her skin was pale and freckled, and though she was clearly amused, she refused to make eye contact with him.

“What’s so funny about being human?” the girl asked, tilting her head to one side in question, lips threatening a pout as she waited for his answer.

“nothing particular,” Sans answered. “just don’t get many of you around these days is all,” he said nonchalantly, then asked, “you just come from the ruins?”

The girl nodded, and Sans found himself wondering if humans were getting _shorter._ This one was even shorter than him, which was unusual, considering he was only four foot nine. Then again, it’d been a long time since he’d been in close proximity with a human. Maybe his memory was going…

“what’d you do to toriel?” he asked more bluntly than he had intended. Still, if this human had done something to his fellow seraphim…

“Are you Toriel’s friend?” the girl asked hopefully, giving Sans pause in his suspicions.

“yeah,” he admitted. “the name’s sans.”

The girl’s face positively lit up at this news. “Oh!” she said, then started to rifle through her pockets. Sans’ brow furrowed in confusion at this reaction, though his interest was certainly peaked. “My name’s Frisk,” the human explained, then found what she had been looking for and held up a familiar, cream hued feather for his inspection. “Toriel told me to give you this if I met you!” Frisk explained. “Didn’t think I’d meet you so soon, though,” she admitted thoughtfully. “I thought you lived far away or something.”

Sans stared at the proffered feather long enough that Frisk actually waved it at him a little, clearly expecting him to take it. The skeleton gave himself a mental shake and quickly plucked it from her waiting fingers. He hadn’t seen his friend since the day she’d sealed the Ruins, but he would never forget the color of her wings. Every angel’s feathers were unique, and while you’d find some in similar hues, no two were quite the same.

“What’s it for?” Frisk asked, making Sans blink and look at her once more.

“it’s...” he mulled the thought over for a moment, then said, “call it a boon.”

The human tilted her head again, frowning a little. “What’s a boon?”

Amused by the girl’s almost bird-like mannerisms, the seraphim answered, “it’s like a favor, i guess. by giving me this, she’s saying she owes me a favor.”

“Oh,” the girl replied, thoughtful as she processed this new information. “Why does she owe you a favor?”

Sans absently twirled the quill of the feather between his fingertips, then slipped it carefully into his jacket pocket with a sigh, knowing just what it was his old friend was asking of him. The _why_ of it, though, was beyond him. Unfortunately, he doubted she had told Frisk.

“because it’s her way of asking me to keep an eye out for you while you undergo the trials,” he explained. “and, bonehead that i am, i’m gonna do it.”

“Really?” Frisk asked, clearly surprised, and the relief that washed across her small, round face plucked at Sans’ heartstrings in a way he hadn’t thought they could be played anymore. After a moment, though, the expression faded a little and she asked in a more guarded tone, “Why?”

Sans shrugged. “because tori’s a friend,” he explained. “pretty much the only one i’ve got.” He paused, then asked in a guarded tone of his own, “was she...alright when you left her?”

Frisk’s brow furrowed, and Sans could read the sadness in every facet of her. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, fearing the worst. “I made her sad,” the girl admitted unhappily. “She wanted me to stay with her in the Ruins, but I said no.” To Sans’ horror, tears threatened at the corner of her half-lidded eyes as she continued, “Sh-she said I had to prove my strength if I wanted to leave; that I had to fight her.”

“And did you?” the skeleton asked, empty smile on his face as he waited for her answer.

“No!” Frisk replied with a petulant stomp of her foot that pulled a snort of amusement from Sans, something he was capable of only out of sheer relief that his friend had apparently left Frisk’s first trial miraculously unharmed. “I said no, even though she threw fire at me and tried to make me mad!” the girl insisted, clearly unhappy at this, though her mood quickly softened. “She stopped, though. I told her I didn’t want to, and she stopped.”

“What, just like that?” Sans asked, incredulous at this turn of events. Traditionally, each trial was composed of some sort of task, and ended in a fight with the angel that ran it. It didn’t have to be to the death for the angel, though there had been those humans in the past who had taken their opponent’s life, rather than spare them. This sort of choice, unfortunately for them, always caught up with them eventually…

To hear that Frisk had made it through the first challenge without so much as landing a hit, though, was...well, unorthodox to say the least.

“She tried to set me on fire!” Frisk countered, clearly taking offense at how light he made of what she had gone through.

The seraphim laughed, a little off kilter from this strange turn of events. What a day. The first human to appear in years showed up just in time to meet him after somehow making her way through the first trial without shedding a drop of blood. It sounded like some sort of joke; or wistful thinking at the very least. “right, right, sorry,” he apologized quickly and tried very hard not to laugh at the frown on the girl’s face.

The more he watched Frisk, the more her mannerisms tugged at something in the back of his mind. The last human he’d interacted with personally had died by his own hand, so on first meeting Frisk he’d wondered if he’d simply lost touch with what humanity was like. He knew this couldn’t be so, though, not really. He’d had many human friends on the surface, and frequented the village at the foot of Mt. Ebott almost daily. It may have been two hundred years since those halcyon days under the sun, but he had too many memories of mankind to really doubt himself for long. Granted, most of his memories fixated on one human in particular…

Sans gave himself a mental shake, not daring to venture down that road of thought now, not after so long of carefully avoiding it. Instead, he turned his attention back to the human before him and asked, “hey, frisk. how old are you?”

There was that bird-like tilt of the head again as she listened to him speak. “Oh,” she said. “I’m ten years old last month,” the girl answered proudly.

Sans felt as though the ground had dropped out from beneath his boots.

“ _what,_ ” he asked, praying to the creator that he had misheard her.

“Ten!” she repeated, “I’m ten years old!”

Sans opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t even begin to put his thoughts into words. A child. A human _child_ was going to have to fight his brother, assuming she made it through all his puzzles first. This child was going to have to fight Undyne, most powerful of the archangels that ranked just under seraphim such as himself, Toriel, and Asgore. A child was going to have to get through Hotland and that metal idiot Alphys made, and _then_ she’d have to make it past his own trial to face Asgore, commander of the heavenly host…

The seraphim laughed loud and long, and judging by the wary look Frisk was giving him, a little bit hysterically.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, clearly irked by his mirth, though unsure of its reason.

It took a moment, but Sans eventually managed to reign himself in and catch his breath, thoughts still spinning at the enormity of the situation. God in heaven, no wonder Toriel hadn’t been able to bring herself to lay a hand on Frisk, not after losing her own son at almost the exact same age as this girl. So why hadn’t Toriel kept Frisk with her, then? That was what she had vowed to do that day in the snow five years ago, after all. Was this human child really so determined as to defeat Toriel’s notoriously iron will?

Sans looked Frisk over speculatively. She didn’t look like much. She could have been any one of the human children he’d seen playing in the village two hundred years ago when he’d been guardian to the sacred lands that made up Mt Ebott. Granted, little girls definitely hadn’t been allowed pants back then, but that was besides the point. The _point_ was that, through no fault of her own, Frisk was clearly just some kid in way over her adorable head.

“life, i guess,” the seraphim mused with a tired sigh, a smile playing across his bony features as he resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to take this precocious child under his wing, both literally _and_ figuratively. Stars above he just wanted to go lay down in the nearest snow drift and pretend none of this was happening… Ellie would never forgive him if he did, though. Ellie had always had _opinions_ about the kind of person that didn’t watch out for children, whether they were theirs or not. Sans gave himself a mental shake and asked, “so, did toriel explain the trials?”

Apparently content that Sans was no longer laughing at her, Frisk nodded thoughtfully. “She said I’d have to do a bunch of challenges and… and fight people if I want to get back home.”

Sans nodded, “that’s about the gist of it. toriel was the first challenge, and you beat her… i guess,” the skeleton absently scratched one heavy brow as he mulled this over, then shrugged and continued. “so next is my brother, papyrus. he likes… puzzles.”

“Puzzles don’t sound so bad,” Frisk said, seeming so hopeful that Sans couldn’t quite bring himself to say anything else on the matter to save bursting her bubble. It was true, Papyrus’ puzzles weren’t bad, so long as you had half a brain in your head (which he swore his brother didn’t sometimes), but he was no slouch when it came to fighting. Refusing to do so had worked out for the human the first time… question was, would it work out so well again?

“easy peasy,” Sans said, then motioned for her to follow, “come on, it’s up this way, unless he went and rearranged them again.”

Frisk started after him, then stopped short, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment before asking, “Um… can I hold your hand?”

Sans paused glanced back at the girl, not having noticed her hesitation once he’d stepped out onto the bridge. It was funny, she didn’t strike him as the clingy type. Still, maybe it was the bridge. Though the idea was foreign to angels, he recalled that many humans had a problem with heights. Not having the reassurance of wings to catch your fall would do that to a body, he supposed.

“yeah, alright,” he said and held out his hand to her, which she took almost immediately. Sans did her the kindness of not commenting on the inordinate expression of relief that overtook her face when their hands met and they started walking again.

They crossed the bridge in silence, but rather than release her hold on him once they were across, her grip tightened a little. “I’m not a baby, you know,” she insisted, and it seemed to Sans that this were a very important point for her to make for pride’s sake. “I just-”

“don’t worry about it, kid,” he said, waving off her concern as they continued walking, boots crunching quietly over the snow covered path.

Silence fell over them as they traveled, and despite the pretty snow-covered vistas that appeared occasionally through the treeline on either side of the path, Frisk kept her gaze resolutely downward. He considered commenting on it, but she beat him to the conversational punch with an observation of her own.

“Your hand is really boney,” the girl commented as she adjusted her grip on him a little, presumably for her own comfort.

Sans laughed, appreciating her ice breaker joke for what it was. “very funny, kid.”

Frisk tilted her head and frowned a little. “Why?”

The seraphim’s chuckle died off as she continued to frown rather than breaking into a smile in recognition of her own joke. Uncertainty began to tug at him, then, and his smile faltered. “well, i mean,” he chuckled half-heartedly, silently begging the girl to crack a grin and release him from this conversational purgatory. “i _am_ a skeleton,” he finished, uncharacteristically sheepish in the face of her continued silence.

“You are?!” Frisk demanded, her hand tightening around his reflexively, then dropping it altogether, as though he had burned her.

They stopped in the middle of the path and Sans rounded on the girl. “well yeah!” he exclaimed incredulously, throwing his arms wide. “What are you-”

It clicked then, and he felt dangerously close to falling right off that mental cliff and into a dark pit of hysterical laughing he wasn’t sure he’d be able to crawl back up out of.

“blind...” he said, voice small as he stared at Frisk. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, hadn’t since the moment they’d met. She tilted her head not just in question, but to better catch his words when he spoke. “Holy hell,” he groaned as he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“You didn’t _know?!_ ” she demanded, clearly taken aback. “How did you not notice? Do they not have blind people here?”

“no!” Sans said, horror sinking in deeper by the moment. Oh god. He wasn’t just guiding a ten year old girl through the seven trials of the Underground, he was guiding a _blind_ ten year old girl through the seven trials of the Underground. “angels don’t...we just heal!”

“Well, sorry I’m not magic,” Frisk said sourly as she crossed her arms over her chest. After a moment, her expression turned thoughtful and she said, “Well… I guess that explains why Toriel never said anything.”

The skeleton dragged his hands down his face and said, “if toriel had known you couldn’t see she’d have chained you up in the ruins and never let you leave.” A question occurred to him, and he asked, “how did you even make it through the ruins?”

Frisk grimaced at the thought of being chained up. “I had a stick I was using to help find my way,” she explained. “It got burned up when Toriel attacked me with fire, though.”

A horrified mantra of ‘oh my god’ seemed to be on a loop in Sans brain as he listened to the girl talk, and for the first time in a long time, he found himself frozen by indecision. What should he do? In accepting Toriel’s boon he had gone and made himself honorbound to see Frisk through the trials until she either triumphed, or died trying. On the other hand, there was no way his fellow seraphim would have ever let the girl out of the ruins if she’d fully understood her situation, no matter how much she cried and begged. Maybe he should take her back? Surely Tori would open the door if he explained…

“Sans?” Frisk said, pulling the skeleton from his internal debate to look at her again.

“yeah?”

“Are you going to take me back to the Ruins?”

Sans paused before answering, the lights of his eyes searching the little girl’s upturned face. She was pensive, lips pulled into a frown as she absently adjusted the crown of flowers on her head. “i should,” he answered finally.

“Please don’t!” the girl begged, taking his hand again and clutching it in her own. “Please, please, _please_ don’t take me back. I have to go home!”

“kid,” Sans said, torn as he watched her expression contort into one of desperation. “i don’t think you understand just how much trouble you’re really in with these trials,” he insisted, all hint of a smile gone from his face now as it occurred to him that he had a very real duty to this lost child that had stumbled into his company. It was a burden he had no desire to carry, but it was one he’d shoulder all the same.

What else could he do?

A small, niggling part of him suggested that he could always just leave the girl there; turn and walk away. He could pretend he’d never bumped into her and let the trials play out as they had so many times before. He wouldn’t even have to be the one to kill her, most likely. There was no way she’d ever make it past Papyrus, let alone Undyne or the Hotlands. He could just step aside and let nature take its course…

His very soul revolted at the idea, and Sans felt ashamed for even thinking it. No, he’d always been an angel of his word, and he wasn’t about to change that now just to save himself the pain he would surely suffer when the little girl holding his hand so tightly in her own was inevitably cut down by one of the archangels. The kind thing to do would be to keep her company for the remainder of her time, make things that little bit easier for her, perhaps even ease her fear when the time came.

“you might die,” he told the child bluntly, trying one last time to turn her back for her own sake. “do you understand that? did toriel explain? the archangels will be trying to kill you at the end of every trial. you managed to scrape by toriel, but you’ve got six more to go, and not a single human has made it to the final trial in the two-hundred years we’ve been stuck down here.”

Frisk opened her eyes fully for the first time since they met, allowing Sans to make out their hazel coloration as she stared unseeing up at him. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and she dropped her head, eyes slipping closed once more. With his hand still gripped tightly in hers, the seraphim could feel the fine tremors that shook her as she nodded. “I have to… I have to go home,” she repeated. “I promised.”

“is your promise worth dying for?” Sans asked with a frown.

Frisk’s head jerked up at his question, and she scowled. With unusual insight for a child her age, she snapped, “I’d just die down here eventually anyways! Just slower and… and locked up!”

A laugh escaped Sans against his better judgement at her declaration. “you’re not wrong,” he mused. “if you tell me you want to go on, i won’t bring it up again,” the seraphim told her. “or, i can take you back to toriel right now and we’ll forget all this ever happened. what’s it gonna be, kid?”

Clearly unused to people taking her seriously, Frisk actually took a moment to consider his question, for which Sans was grateful. If she had jumped in with an answer directly, he wasn’t sure he could take her words to heart. Granted, it was bad enough that a ten year old was having to make life and death decisions, but things were what they were, whether either of them liked it or not. This wasn’t the surface world, and the trials of the Underground had rules all their own. No doubt he was violating at least five of them just for offering to take the girl back to the Ruins, but he never had been much for following the rules. No one had to know Frisk ever stepped foot in the Underground…

“I have to try,” the girl answered eventually. “I have to go home.”

A small sigh escaped Sans, but he smiled. “alright,” he said, then glanced around as a thought occurred to him. “wait here a second,” he instructed the girl before carefully extricating his hand from hers and stepping off the path towards the treeline.

Frisk did as she was told and remained on the trail, head tilted slightly to one side as she listened to Sans trudge through the snow away from her and proceed to rummage around in the underbrush. He was a strange person, this seraphim who also happened to be a skeleton, but she found herself liking him anyways. While funny, Sans also took her more seriously than any other adult she had ever known, except perhaps her Grandma, and she appreciated that.

There was the sharp crack of wood breaking, followed by a quiet curse that Sans no doubt thought she couldn’t hear. “No cursing!” she chastised her new friend. “Grandma says only sailors and the wicked curse.”

Sans laughed as he returned, realizing that the girl’s hearing was even better than he’d expected. He’d barely even muttered the swear when the branch he’d torn free of a tree had come loose unexpectedly and dumped him on his back in the snow. “what about wicked sailors?” he asked, smiling as he stripped the branch of stray twigs sprouting from its length.

“They’re worst of all,” the girl answered with a sage nod, then asked, “What are you doing?”

“happy birthday,” the skeleton told the girl in lieu of answer, then gently pressed the stick into her hand.

“But it’s not my birthday,” Frisk said with a laugh as she accepted the gift and ran her hands along it. The stick was just the right length, and felt quite sturdy without being too heavy for her.

“picky,” Sans said with a tsk, watching the girl give the stick an experimental swing, then tap it firmly against the frozen ground.

“Well, I guess it is my _un_ birthday,” Frisk said with a grin as she adjusted her hold on the stick so she’d be able to feel her way. “Thanks, Sans,” she added happily, clearly relieved to have a new means of navigating the world safely.

“unbirthday? that’s a new one,” Sans mused as he watched her test the stick. His smile widened when she thanked him, and found himself feeling strangely gratified by her obvious appreciation.

“Any day that’s not your birthday is your unbirthday,” Frisk informed him brightly as she started walking, stick tapping lightly back and forth across the ground in front of her. “I read it in a book about a girl named Alice that fell down a rabbit hole and ended up in a weird kingdom where there’s a tea party with mad people, and a white rabbit that’s always late, and the queen wants to chop off her head.”

Sans trailed along beside the girl, careful to stay out of reach of her stick as he listened to her chatter. “sounds kinda familiar,” he remarked with a grin.

Frisk tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, then smiled and said, “Yeah, I guess so, huh? Will there be a tea party with mad people, do you think? I like scones.”

“well, there’s plenty of mad people here, for sure,” Sand admitted, deciding to steer clear of the possibility of beheadings for the sake of not frightening his young charge. She’d have more than enough of that later when it came time to fight Papyrus, after all. “hey,” he said, grin widening as he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “how does a crazy person travel through the woods?”

The girl pondered the question for a moment, then gave up. “I don’t know. How?”

“they take the _psychopath,_ ” Sans answered smugly.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t rewarded with the laugh he’d expected. Instead, Frisk asked, “What’s a psychopath?”

The skeleton sighed, a little disappointed, though he chuckled all the same and explained. “It’s a kind of crazy person.”

“Oh!” Frisk said, then grinned. “That’s funny!”

Sans rolled his eyes, but smiled and pushed the girl lightly. “well, better late than never, i guess.”


	2. Puzzles on Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter at last! So, uh...just how long is TOO long for a chapter, do you think? *sweats* This chapter is 20k, and considering that I'm trying to restrain the chapters so there's one trial each, that means all the chapters will likely be about this long.
> 
> **So I'm honestly asking:** would you guys prefer shorter chapters? Like, is a 20k chapter inconvenient to read? Obviously if they were shorter, I'd update more frequently, but then again, less frequent = much bigger update. I'll leave it up to you guys, so drop me a review with your opinion!

Sans and Frisk walked through the forest in a companionable silence broken only by the crunch of freshly fallen snow beneath their boots and the gentle tap of the girl's walking stick.

Frisk brightened noticeably and asked, "Hey, did you hear the one about the guy that invented the knock-knock joke?"

Sans glanced sidelong at the girl. She was grinning broadly, barely able to repress the urge to give the answer to her own joke before he made his response. Rather than keep her waiting, the seraphim asked, "nope. what about him?"

"He won the 'no-bell' prize!" she said and threw her hands in the air with the kind of exuberance only the very young (and Papyrus) could manage.

The skeleton tilted his head, mulling the answer over and feeling as though he were missing something. "what's a no-bell prize? other than the obvious, i mean," he asked eventually when he was forced to give up parsing it out on his own.

"Um," Frisk lost a little of her animation and dropped her hands, stick automatically going back to its constant back and forth before her. A small frown spread over the girl's face as she thought. "I think...it's a prize for smart people?"

Sans laughed and nudged her lightly with his elbow. "guess that mean's you're not getting one, huh?" Frisk's stick gave him a sharp rap across his shins for his trouble, making him yelp through his laughter.

"Yeah, well, you've never even _heard_ of a no-bell prize, so you're _definitely_ not getting one!"

"touché," Sans admitted, still grinning once he'd managed to stop laughing. He turned to say something else, but paused when he saw Frisk tilt her head, brow furrowed in concentration.

"What's that sound?" she asked and came to a halt in the center of the path.

Stopping at her side, Sans listened, but heard nothing for a long moment. Eventually, though, the sound of wings on the air reached him, and he knew just what was coming. "damn," he muttered as Papyrus burst into view over the treeline ahead of them, his crimson wings flashing as he circled overhead, then came in for a landing.

"What is it?" Frisk asked, throwing her hand up to shield her face from the sudden onslaught of snow kicked up by the other angel's arrival.

"my brother, papyrus," Sans admitted to his companion with a sigh. "i'd kinda hoped we'd get closer to snowdin before we ran into him, but… oh well."

"SANS!" Papyrus shouted irately as he approached, wings half-mantled at his shoulders, making him appear even larger than normal.

"'sup bro?" Sans remarked casually as he unveiled his wings and deftly swept the uninjured right one out to wrap around Frisk and herd her closer to him, effectively shielding the girl from his brother's view. Not that there was any way Papyrus hadn't seen her from the air, but Sans figured it was worth a shot. Luckily, Frisk didn't complain at the sudden onslaught of soft, feathery warmth, and shuffled closer without comment. Sans could feel her small hands carefully exploring the underside of his wing, but he didn't let the sensation distract him.

"DON'T YOU 'SUP BRO' ME, SANS! YOU-" Papyrus paused, brow furrowing as he stared down at his shorter brother. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"oh… just out for a walk," Sans replied with a careless shrug. "you know these old bones get restless."

Under his wing, Frisk tried to muffle a giggle, and Papyrus' eyes narrowed as he put his hands on his hips and demanded, "I MEAN YOUR WING. WHO ARE YOU HIDING UNDER THERE?"

Unable to resist, Sans played along, and rather than revealing Frisk he lifted his crippled left wing as though he expected to find something beneath its ragged length. "hiding? don't know what you mean, bro; nothing under here."

Pain lanced through him as he lowered the wing again, but it was worth it for the furious little stomp Papyrus made as his frustration boiled over. "NO! THE OTHER WING; THE OTHER! QUIT FOOLING AROUND, SANS!"

"oh, you mean _this_ wing?" Sans asked with a smile, twitching the limb in question, though he did not open it.

"YES OBVIOUSLY," Papyrus huffed, "YOU HAVE NO OTHER WINGS TO SPEAK OF!"

"says you," the seraphim countered.

His brother paused again, and seemed to consider this for a moment. He shook himself, though, and to Sans' disappointment, refused to be baited. "QUIT BOONDOGGLING, SANS! I HAVE NO TIME FOR YOUR SHENANIGANS RIGHT NOW, JUST SHOW ME WHAT YOU'RE HIDING!"

Frisk giggled again, and Sans squeezed his wing more tightly around the girl to shush her.

"WHATEVER IT IS, IT IS GIGGLING. I DON'T LIKE IT WHEN STRANGE THINGS GIGGLE FOR UNKNOWN REASONS, SANS."

"oh i dunno, i think the _reason_ is obvious enough," the shorter skeleton remarked, and if Papyrus had had a vein to burst, Sans rather suspected he would have. Before his beleaguered brother could object again, Sans added, "it's supposed to be a surprise."

"A GIGGLING SURPRISE?" Papyrus asked skeptically. Giving up on getting a straight answer out of his brother, the archangel stepped forward and simply pushed his wing aside.

Hair mussed and flower crown askew from her confinement, Frisk turned her face up towards Papyrus and said, "Hi."

The crimson feathers of Papyrus' wings fluffed out in surprise at the unexpected sight, though the rest of him remained frozen. After a moment, he asked, "SANS, IS THAT… IS THAT A HUMAN?"

"what?" Sans asked, "where?"

"HERE!" Papyrus very nearly screeched as he gesticulated wildly at Frisk.

"oh, her?" his brother replied casually as he veiled his wings once more. "yeah."

"I'm Frisk," the little girl said and offered her hand up to shake, smiling brightly, just as her Grandma had taught her to do when meeting new people.

"O-OH, HELLO, LITTLE HUMAN," Papyrus said, taken aback by this unexpected show of courtesy. Not one to be rude, the skeleton took her hand in his much larger gloved one and shook it carefully. "I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, ARCHANGEL OF SNOWDIN, KEEPER OF THE SECOND TRIAL, AND-"

"yeah, yeah, alright, we don't need the whole spiel," Sans said, waving a hand at his brother in an attempt to cut him off before he got properly started. "we'll be here all day at this rate."

On a normal day, Papyrus probably would have chastised him for interrupting his over-the-top introduction. Instead, the much taller angel practically jigged in place and agreed with his older brother. "OF COURSE. YOU'RE HERE FOR THE TRIAL!" he proclaimed excitedly. "I'VE BEEN PLANNING THIS FOR SO LONG! IT'S MY FIRST TIME, YOU KNOW."

"Toriel said that other people had gone through the trials before me, though," Frisk pointed out thoughtfully as she did her best to neaten her crown of flowers, though her short hair still stuck up at odd angles. Neither of the angels paid it any mind, so it remained that way.

"I WAS NOT ALWAYS THE KEEPER OF THE SECOND TRIAL," Papyrus admitted, and Sans glanced at him sidelong as his brother shifted in place. The archangel's sleek, crimson wings had settled behind him now that he was no longer irritated.

Frisk tilted her head as she listened, angling her chin up as she began to register just how tall Papyrus really was. At almost eight-and-a-half feet tall, the archangel towered over both of them, and not for the first time, Sans found himself getting a crick in his neck just talking to him from this close. At least Frisk didn't have to worry about making eye contact with people. "Who did it before you?" she asked Papyrus curiously.

The taller skeleton tilted his head thoughtfully and considered a question for a moment before finally answering. "I DON'T KNOW," he admitted with a frown. "THEY DISAPPEARED AFTER THE LAST HUMAN THAT CAME THROUGH SNOWDIN PASSED THEIR TRIAL," Papyrus explained. "AFTER THAT, COMMANDER ASGORE HIMSELF GAVE ME THE JOB, SO I'VE BEEN REVAMPING ALL THE PUZZLES WHILE I WAITED FOR ANOTHER HUMAN TO FINALLY COME THROUGH." The archangel was grinning again as he gestured at Frisk with both hands and declared, "AND HERE YOU ARE, AT LAST!"

Buoyed by Papyrus' enthusiasm, Frisk grinned. "I like puzzles," she admitted brightly.

"ME TOO!" the skeleton exclaimed, clearly delighted to find a fellow puzzle connoisseur at long last. "THE FIRST PART OF THE TRIAL IS STRAIGHT AHEAD. I'LL MEET YOU THERE," Papyrus said, then unfurled his wings and sprang into the air.

Before he was able to beat his long, angular wings more than twice, though, Sans sprang nimbly upward and caught him by one ankle. "hold on, little bro," the seraphim said and dragged Papyrus back down to earth. "i've got a few new rules for your puzzles," Sans informed him, thinking fast.

"I AM _NOT_ LITTLE, SANS," Papyrus complained at the nickname even as he was pulled back to the ground. His brother's next words, though, brought him up short before he could gripe further. "WHAT NEW RULES?" he asked suspiciously, leaving his wings half-spread in anticipation of another takeoff.

Sans glanced at Frisk, remembered she obviously couldn't see him do so, and asked, "he doesn't realize either. okay if i tell 'im?"

The little girl just laughed and nodded. "Angels are so weird," she muttered mostly to herself.

"I AM NO SUCH THING!" Papyrus huffed, hands on hips.

It was only then that his brother's wardrobe registered with Sans. "Are you still wearing that?" he asked, amused as he gave Papyrus a quick up and down.

The archangel glanced down at the costume he had made for Muffet's party the week before and said, "OF COURSE! IT'S MY BATTLE BODY, YOU KNOW!"

Sans tried very hard, but failed, to smother a grin when his brother struck a dramatic pose, wings folded just so in an impressive imitation of a cape. "pap, you have _literal_ armor, what do you need a 'battle body' for?" the seraphim mused while Frisk listened curiously to their exchange.

"THIS IS MUCH LIGHTER THAN MY ARMOR. I CAN MOVE MUCH FASTER AND MORE NIMBLY NOW!"

"that's because we made it out of paper mache," Sans pointed out.

"YOUR POINT?" Papyrus asked, dropping his pose and looking down at his brother critically.

Sans opened his mouth to say something, but glanced at Frisk again and stopped himself. A huff of amusement escaped the seraphim and he shrugged helplessly. "can't argue with that logic."

Papyrus grinned triumphantly. "PRECISELY. NOW, WHAT ARE THESE NEW RULES?"

"right," Sans said, recalling himself back to the _actual_ task at hand, rather than his brother's questionable fashion choices. It wasn't as though he were anyone to judge when it came to wardrobe, after all. His blue jacket was faded and threadbare, he was pretty sure his black gym shorts had a hole in them somewhere, and his boots had definitely seen better days. At least Papyrus' clothes were 'new'. "the kid here is blind," he explained to his brother. "you're going to have to walk her through the puzzles if she's going to have a fair try at them. you know all the trials have to be passable to be valid."

Papyrus blinked and looked down at Frisk who tilted her head up to regard him, though her eyes remained half-lidded. The skeleton waved a hand in front of her face experimentally and she swatted it away with uncanny accuracy. "I can _hear_ you waving your hand around, you know," she said, exasperated as the archangel snatched his hand back quickly.

"SANS, HOW DO WE KNOW THIS ISN'T SOME CLEVER RUSE ON THE HUMAN'S PART?" he asked suspiciously.

"it's not, bro, trust me," Sans reassured him, voice gentle for a change, rather than teasing as he reached over and ruffled Frisk's hair further.

"Hey," she complained, nose scrunching up as she resettled her flowers once more, making her companion grin.

Papyrus hummed uncertainly for a moment, then finally acquiesced. "ALRIGHT, IF YOU SAY SO, SANS." He frowned a little and asked, "A WALKTHROUGH, THOUGH? DOESN'T THAT DEFEAT THE PURPOSE OF A PUZZLE?"

"i'm not saying you have to solve it for her, pap," Sans said. "you'll just have to describe things to her so she actually has a chance to solve them." When his brother continued to look uncertain, the seraphim added, "what's the point of having all these puzzles you made if there's no one to solve them? aren't you bored just sitting around and tinkering with them all the time?"

Sans knew he'd hit the nail on the head when Papyrus straightened, then dropped one hand onto his hip. "YOU'RE RIGHT FOR ONCE, SANS," he agreed.

"once?" Sans grumbled under his breath, making Frisk giggle.

"ALRIGHT, HUMAN," Papyrus said and pointed dramatically down at her from his much greater height. "I WILL ACCOMPANY YOU THROUGH MY PUZZLES AND DESCRIBE THEM IN DETAIL SO YOU HAVE A FAIR CHANCE." He leaned down, bending almost double to put himself at eye level with her so he could add, "BUT DON'T EXPECT ANY HINTS!"

"Well it's no fun if there's hints," the girl said with a grin, which Papyrus returned before taking a few steps back and launching himself into the air again, unhindered by his brother this time.

"GOOD! I WILL MEET YOU AT THE FIRST PUZZLE THEN!" the archangel declared, then darted away through the sky, peregrine-fast on his red wings.

Sans and Frisk both put up a hand to shield themselves from the shower of snow kicked up in Papyrus' wake. The seraphim watched him go for a moment, eyes tracking the way his brother tucked his wings close to his long body as he rolled to one side to avoid a tree, then spread wide again with a clap to carry him quickly away. A familiar something in the Sans' heart twinged at the sight, and the ache in his veiled left wing pulsed sharply for a moment as it always did when he thought of flying.

Quickly burying the pointless thought, Sans turned his attention back to Frisk and asked, "ready, kid?"

"I think so," she answered with a bob of her head. "Which way did he go?"

Sans reached out and gently pointed her in the correct direction with a light hand to one of her thin shoulders. "This way," he said, then started walking. "You can hold my hand, if you want," he offered without thinking, surprising himself.

"No thanks, I've got it," Frisk answered firmly as she made her way along the path, stick tapping in front of her.

Sans rather got the impression that the girl valued her independence, and despite her initial clinging when they met, was not the type to shy away from a challenge. The seraphim smiled to himself, finding that he was liking this precocious child more all the time. He felt a sort of kindred spirit in her, which was unusual, considering her youth and their vastly different backgrounds. They both liked bad jokes, valued their independence, and hated when people treated them differently because of their handicaps. At the end of the day, he had a lot more in common with this stray human child than he did with most of his own kind.

The humor in this did not escape him.

"Archangels are one of the most powerful kinds of angels, aren't they?" Frisk asked out of the blue.

Sans blinked at her question, but counted himself lucky that she'd decided to ask that, rather than what had happened to the angel that had held Papyrus' job before him.

That wasn't a conversation he particularly looked forward to having.

"yeah," he answered readily. "why?"

The girl frowned a little, and Sans realized it was a stupid question. Puzzles aside, this child was going to have to fight his brother at the end of it all if she wanted to continue on.

Papyrus, while strong, wasn't a warrior at heart, no matter how dearly he wished he was. Still, even the weakest of angels would be able to overpower Frisk in a fight. There wasn't much he could do to level the playing ground for her there, after all.

"i won't let you go into the fight blind," he reassured her quickly, then paused. "er, figuratively, anyways. can't do much about the literal."

A half-hearted laugh escaped the girl, but faded again as Frisk admitted, "I don't wanna fight him at all."

A sigh escaped Sans in a cloud that quickly fell behind him as they walked. "i know, kid. but you have to if you want to get home. there's no way around it."

"I don't understand why there's trials at all," Frisk admitted, frown deepening. "Why can't I just go home?"

The seraphim hesitated before answering, unsure of how to - or even if he _should_ \- explain. Finally, he put off the decision by saying, "it's a dumb rule, frisk, but it's an important one. trust me."

The last two words fell out of his mouth without thinking, and a sharp pang lanced through his chest when, after a moment's consideration, Frisk tilted her head and said, "Okay, if you say so, Sans."

Just for that moment, the seraphim was glad the little girl was blind or she would have had to suffer through him looking at her as though she had grown a second head. She trusted him. This little girl, so very far from home and completely out of her depth, _trusted_ him, despite having just met him. The seraphim had already decided to shoulder the burden of looking out for her as best he could during the trials, but the discovery that she trusted him to do so…

It left a funny sort of feeling in his chest.

Feeling unaccountably flustered, Sans cleared his throat awkwardly to cover his stunned silence and thanked the creator when they came around the last bend in the path to a familiar clearing. Papyrus stood at the end of the path looking dramatically foreboding with his wings folded along his back like a cape. "WELCOME, HUMAN," he declared with a broad wave of a gloved hand. "TO THE BEGINNING OF THE SECOND TRIAL, MASTERMINDED BY ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

A grin of amusement at his brother's antics overtook Sans' face, and the seraphim briefly wondered if Papyrus had forgotten that Frisk couldn't actually see any of his dramatic posturing. Then again, the archangel never _had_ been one to do things in half measures, so it probably didn't matter to him either way. It was the principle of the thing.

This being his brother's first time running his trial, Sans muffled any teasing comment he might have usually made. This was the most excited he'd seen Papyrus in ages, and he didn't have it in him to rain on his parade.

"Um, what am I supposed to be seeing?" Frisk asked him in a quiet aside.

Before Sans could begin to describe the scene for the girl, though, Papyrus eagerly jumped in and did so himself. "WHY, NOTHING AT ALL BUT AN EMPTY CLEARING!" he declared with a downright nefarious laugh.

As the archangel rubbed his gloved hands together menacingly, Frisk turned her head slightly and cocked it towards Sans in a way the older angel was coming to recognize as her way of looking at him. Reading her unasked question in the lines of her face, the seraphim said "well, he's not lying, it really is an empty clearing." Sans found himself wondering just what it was his brother was up to for this particular puzzle. He tended to stay out of Papyrus' way when it came to the archangel's ever evolving trial, but he had noticed him frequenting this clearing more and more of late. He hadn't actually seen anything _change_ , though, so Sans had just assumed his brother was making plans to put a new puzzle in this particular clearing. He hadn't realized he'd finished.

When Papyrus seemed done with his bout of ominous laughter, Sans shoved his hands in his coat pockets and said, "alright, bro, give her the _bare bones_ of this puzzle already, will you?"

Beside him, Frisk smiled at his joke, though Papyrus just gave him a look of disgust. He acquiesced, though, and said, "FOR THIS TRIAL, I WILL NOT HELP YOU, HUMAN!" he declared. Before his older brother could object, he continued on and waved at the seemingly empty clearing. "THIS IS MY A- _MAZE-_ ING INVISIBLE MAZE, SO THE FACT THAT YOU CANNOT SEE DOES NOT, IN FACT, MATTER." He paused for a moment, seeming to consider something before adding, "SHOULD YOU NEED TO ORIENT YOURSELF TO THE EXIT, HOWEVER, MY BROTHER OR I WILL SHOUT FOR YOU."

The brother in question was staring out across the clearing, taken aback by the apparent sophistication of Papyrus' latest puzzle. Had he really managed to make an entirely invisible maze? He hadn't realized the archangel had gotten _that_ good at his job. He really ought to pay more attention to what his brother got up to in his free time, apparently...

"Is he serious?" Frisk asked Sans, eyebrows up, mouth a little 'o' of surprise.

"seems to be," Sans said with a helpless shrug.

"SANS, HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY DOUBT MY BRILLIANCE?!" Papyrus demanded with a scowl, but Sans only arched a brow at him.

"i don't, i'm just...impressed," he said, words genuine despite the humor that lit his eyes. "so, you gonna guide me through first?" Sans asked. Papyrus knew better than to offer to carry him; he had made that mistake only once, not long after the fall, and it was one the archangel would never repeat.

Papyrus laughed again and declared, "THERE WILL BE NO NEED FOR THAT!" He then reached beneath his right wing and produced a sphere the size of a man's fist that glittered faintly in his red gloved hand. It appeared to be made of pale blue glass, and while it looked solid, was actually quite light. "YOU SEE, THE MAZE WORKS ONLY FOR WHOEVER HOLDS THIS ORB, SO YOU AND I WILL PASS UNMOLESTED. THE HUMAN, HOWEVER, WILL BE SHOCKED IF SHE SO MUCH AS TOUCHES THE WALLS!" Papyrus grinned, obviously quite proud of himself as he tossed the orb from one hand to the other. "BRILLIANT, YES?" he asked as he proceeded to place the glass bobble on Frisk's head amongst the flowers of her crown, looking very much like an odd egg in an even stranger nest.

Sans immediately noted a sizeable fault in his brother's plan, but said nothing, knowing that point it out would only invalidate this portion of the trial. If the kid were paying attention, though…He glanced at Frisk sidelong, but could not tell if she had caught on as well.

"COME, SANS," Papyrus said, then darted off across the clearing to the point where the path picked up on the other side. "DO NOT START UNTIL I SAY SO, HUMAN!" the archangel commanded.

A small huff of amusement escaped Sans, and he elbowed his young companion gently. "good luck, kid," he said. "just uh...take your time and think about it, huh?" he suggested, then started off after his brother, not quite daring to say more than that.

Papyrus was practically bouncing in place by the time Sans caught up to him, and when he had, the taller skeleton shouted, "YOU MAY BEGIN, HUMAN!"

Rather than starting forward immediately, Frisk stabbed her walking stick down into the snow so it stood on its own, and took a moment to process the instructions she had been given, just as Sans had suggested. The girl then plucked the glass ball from off her head, and allowed her fingers to play along the crown of flowers, clearly checking that they remained undamaged. Finding them to her satisfaction, she waved the magic orb in the air and called, "Um, excuse me, Mr. Papyrus?"

"THAT'S 'ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS' TO YOU, SMALL HUMAN TRIAL GOER!" the skeleton called back, though after a moment's hesitation, he asked "WHAT? YOU DON'T NEED HELP ALREADY, DO YOU?!"

"No, I just had a question is all, Archangel Papyrus" Frisk said as she lowered her arm and held the orb carefully between both hands.

"OH," Papyrus said, sounding almost disappointed. "WELL, WHAT IS IT?"

"So, I just have to get over to where you and Sans are, right?" she asked curiously, and the seraphim felt a rush of relief. She'd got it. Clever girl had listened and put it together, just as he'd hoped she would.

"YES," the archangel answered, tapping his boot impatiently.

Frisk tilted her head, then held up the orb and spoke again, "And the maze will only shock whoever is holding this ball?"

Papyrus huffed impatiently. "I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT!" In an aside to his brother, he added "THIS HUMAN DOES NOT LISTEN VERY WELL, DOES SHE?"

"you might be surprised," Sans replied with a sly smile that his brother did not like at all.

"Oh, okay!" Frisk said and grinned. She then carefully set the ball down in the snow to her right, took up her stick, and proceeded to march straight across the clearing. Papyrus watched her, flabbergasted as Sans chuckled and waved her on.

"this way, kid," he called to her when she started to drift a little to the right, put off course by the unevenness of the ground beneath the once pristine blanket of snow.

She reoriented and made a bee-line towards them, grinning when she finally made it. "I did it!" she declared happily, clearly quite proud of herself for figuring out Papyrus' supposedly cunning trap.

"sure did," Sans, still grinning. "high-five, kiddo, good job," he said. Frisk stuck one hand out and he slapped her palm with his, and they both laughed. "now up high." She re-oriented her hand and he did it again.

To his surprise, she offered it once more, and asked, "Down low?" Just as he went to complete the gesture, though, she snatched her hand back and grinned, declaring, "Too slow!"

Sans' jaw dropped as Frisk broke down into laughter, which he did as well after a moment's stunned silence. "what the hell, i cannot believe i just fell for that," he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes as the girl in front of him giggled, clearly delighted at her successful subterfuge. "need to up my game, i'm getting rusty."

"QUIT ALL THIS CONGRATULATORY HAND SLAPPING!" Papyrus said, cutting through their laughter as he stomped one foot. "THAT DIDN'T...YOU CAN'T JUST-"

The smile fell from Frisk's face as she tilted her head slightly to listen to Papyrus, worried once more. Before his brother could call her a cheat, though, Sans cut in, "don't worry about him, kid. he's just upset you figured out his clever ruse so easily."

"I-" Papyrus began again, only to be interrupted once more.

"-because it would take a _total numbskull_ to expect a bright kid like you to actually complete the maze when you can just walk through it instead." The seraphim was still smiling when he looked at his brother side-long, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that brought Papyrus up short.

Realizing his folly, the archangel's objections crumbled. He sighed, and said, "YES. YES OF COURSE. GOOD JOB, SMALL HUMAN, YOU HAVE PASSED THE FIRST PUZZLE OF THE TRIAL."

Frisk cheered, and Sans' gaze softened as he gave his younger brother a commiserative pat on the arm. "hey, maybe you'll get her next puzzle, bro."

This suggestion made Papyrus brighten noticeably. "YES, TO THE NEXT PUZZLE!" he declared happily, and started off down the path. "FOLLOW ME!"

They did so, and Sans placed one hand lightly on Frisk's elbow to guide her in the correct direction when they came to a fork in the trail, then released her again as she seemed to be having no problem navigating on the relatively even ground. The seraphim found himself keeping one eye on her as they walked, though, concerned that she might slip on a patch of ice. Wondering if Frisk inspired this sort of protectiveness in everyone she came across, Sans was actually surprised when they arrived at the next puzzle sooner than expected. As soon as he realized where they were, though, he nearly laughed.

"SANS!" Papyrus demanded as he rounded on him, "YOU SAID YOU WOULD TAKE CARE OF THIS PUZZLE LAST WEEK! WHERE IS IT?"

"it's there," Sans reassured him.

"WHERE?"

"there," the seraphim said and pointed to the center of the small clearing they'd arrived in.

"You made a puzzle too, Sans?" Frisk asked curiously, turning towards him.

The skeleton shrugged and grinned, amused despite his little brother's annoyance. "yeah. kinda. might have cheated just a little bit," he admitted. Papyrus shot him an ugly look and Sans said "what? i was busy! besides, puzzles are your thing, dude. you shoulda known better than to ask."

"BUSY DOING WHAT?" Papyrus asked.

"stuff," Sans answered cagily as Frisk started forward, deciding to pay the brothers no mind as they argued. Or, rather, as Papyrus argued and Sans continued to brush off his annoyance.

The human's makeshift cane fetched up against something small and crinkling, bringing her up short. Frisk crouched and felt around carefully until she found the slip of paper that had been left out on the snow under a small rock that was no doubt meant to keep it from blowing away. She stood and tucked her stick under one arm as she let her fingers brush over the 'puzzle's smooth surface.

"Um," she said, and turned to face the pair of angels. They didn't hear her, though, so she tried again. "Excuse me!"

Papyrus, still irritated, turned and asked, "WHAT?!"

"Is this the puzzle?" she asked and held up the bit of paper.

"yep," Sans answered. "it's the junior jumble," he clarified, knowing what her next question was likely to be.

"It's a...it's a word jumble?" she asked. "Just what kind of challenge is that supposed to be?" she asked with a laugh. "Well, pretty impossible for me, I guess," she mused, then frowned. "This doesn't...this doesn't mean I fail the trial, does it?" she asked, worried now.

Sans glanced sidelong up at his brother again, who huffed and seemed to cave. "NO," he said, grumbling a bit. "THIS IS ALL SANS' FAULT FOR PICKING SUCH A TERRIBLE PUZZLE! HONESTLY, JUNIOR JUMBLE IS FAR TOO DIFFICULT, SANS. WHAT WERE YOU EVEN THINKING?" He demanded as he stalked over to Frisk and took the paper from her, then crumpled it up into a wad and threw it at Sans' head.

Sans caught it easily, then tucked it into his jacket pocket, still grinning. "what, seriously? junior jumble is for baby bones, pap. the crossword is way harder."

Papyrus scoffed, then caught up Frisk's hand in his own and proceeded to lead her away. "COME ALONG, HUMAN, WE WILL DO A DIFFERENT PUZZLE DESIGNED BY ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! IT WILL BE MUCH BETTER THAN THE JUNIOR JUMBLE."

"O-okay," Frisk said, picking up her pace to keep up with Papyrus' long strides as Sans trailed along after, watching their progress with some amusement. Apparently the girl didn't quite dare to demand her independence from the angel in charge of her second trial. Every few steps she would have to jump ahead to keep up, until Papyrus finally noted her struggles and slowed down enough that she could actually walk normally.

Next to an outcropping of rocks, they reached the next trial. Papyrus came to a stop and released Frisk's hand before explaining for her. "BEFORE YOU IS A TABLE, AND ON IT IS A PLATE OF DELICIOUS SPAGHETTI," he said as he rubbed his gloved hands nefariously again.

His brother, Sans realized, didn't just have an awful poker face, he had an awful puzzle face to go with it. He really would have to talk to him about all that hand rubbing. Talk about a dead giveaway.

Frisk's nose scrunched up in confusion as she tilted her head to one side. "I thought I had to do a puzzle? Why is there spaghetti?"

"I DON'T KNOW," Papyrus said with false innocence that nearly made Sans snort. "BUT PERHAPS YOU WILL BE SO DISTRACTED BY THIS DELICIOUS SPAGHETTI THAT YOU WILL NEVER FINISH THE TRIAL!"

The archangel laughed in what he no doubt thought was a wicked manner (NYEH HEH HEH HEH, Sans imagined it would be written), but Frisk only said, "Oh, I probably shouldn't eat it then," and reached out towards where she knew Sans was standing.

The seraphim managed not to laugh, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face as he took her hand in his, ready to guide her away since she had so neatly sidestepped this trap as well. "it's frozen anyways, just feel it," he mused, poking at the plate absently with one finger.

"SANS," Papyrus practically whined.

"what?" the seraphim asked. "it is. that's gross, bro. more gross than usual, even."

Frisk reached out and did the same, giggling when her fingers found the plate of noodles which was indeed frozen. So much so that the sauce had effectively glued the lot to the plate. "Ew, yeah, I don't want frozen spaghetti."

"SILLY HUMAN, I THOUGHT OF THAT ALREADY!" Papyrus declared, rallying admirably. "BESIDES THE PLATE OF SPAGHETTI IS A MICROWAVE!"

"Oh!" she said, surprised at this revelation. Frisk thought about this fact for a moment, though, then asked "But what is the microwave plugged into?"

A moment of silence, and then, "WHAT?"

"What's the microwave plugged into? You know, so it can run?" She turned to Papyrus, who did not immediately answer, and then to Sans. "Or is it like...a magic microwave? Do you have those?"

"no," Sans answered, still grinning as he leaned around the table to see that the plug of the microwave was, indeed, dangling uselessly off the back of the table. "definitely not a magic microwave."

"UGH," Papyrus said dramatically, then threw his arms in the air and declared, "FINE, YOU WIN THIS ROUND, SMALL HUMAN. YOU HAVE AVOIDED MY SUPER SNEAKY PASTA TRAP, CONGRATULATIONS."

"Really?" Frisk asked, lighting up at this news.

"YES, REALLY," the archangel admitted with a sigh. "BUT BEWARE, THE NEXT WILL NOT BE SO EASY!"

"Alright!" the girl said and flashed the archangel a grin, her hand still in Sans'. After a moment, she handed her stick to the seraphim, who arched a brow at her, but accepted it. Her right hand free, she reached up for Papyrus'. She missed the first try, but found him on the second, surprising him from his disappointed reverie with the unexpected contact. "This is pretty fun," she admitted cheerfully as they all walked together.

Papyrus shot his brother a disbelieving look over the little girl's head, but Sans only smiled and shrugged, amused by the odd picture they made, and unwilling to break it up. The three of them together had a strange sort of... _rightness_ to it, he realized. Papyrus must have felt the same, as rather than shaking Frisk off, he returned her grip on him and broke into a wide smile.

"I AM ALSO HAVING FUN," he admitted. "I DID NOT EXPECT THE FIRST HUMAN TO ATTEMPT MY TRIAL WOULD BE SMART ENOUGH TO SOLVE ANY OF MY PUZZLES."

"Well, I didn't solve the paper one..." Frisk pointed out.

Papyrus snorted dismissively. "THAT'S BECAUSE MY BROTHER IS TERRIBLE AT PUZZLES. HIS DOESN'T COUNT."

"i'm pretty sure it makes me the undisputed puzzle champion, actually," Sans said smugly just to needle his brother.

"IT MOST CERTAINLY DOES NOT!"

* * *

 Frisk's laughter echoed through the clearing, waking Sans from his doze at the base of a nearby tree. His eyes remained closed, but he paid more attention to what was going on around him, and listened as Papyrus lead the little girl through another one of his switch puzzles. There were several of them, so Sans had given up following them around and told them to wake him when they were done, trusting that his brother would keep an eye on the girl. They certainly _sounded_ as though they were having a good time. In any case, Papyrus no longer seemed upset that Frisk was practically breezing through all of his puzzles; rather, he was quickly coming to admire her. It turned out she had a very good memory for where things around her were once she'd been walked through once, a skill she'd no doubt been forced to hone thanks to her lack of eyesight.

Still feigning sleep, Sans smiled a little when he overheard Papyrus congratulating the girl on completing another puzzle. She cheered, and the sound of skin on glove contact denoted another high-five. The archangel had been hesitant to adapt this new habit at first, but apparently he had come to appreciate its charm.

Thoughts of what Papyrus would do when it came time to fight Frisk surfaced from the depths of his mind, but Sans quickly pushed them aside. They'd cross that bridge when they got to it.

"Sans! Sans, I did it!" Frisk called as she bounded over, hand in hand with Papyrus as she allowed him to lead her in the right direction.

"never doubted you for a minute, kiddo," Sans said with a yawn and a smile as he opened his eyes just in time to see the girl throw herself at him. Caught offguard, he reached out and caught her reflexively before they wound up in a pile in the snow, and she succeeded in throwing her arms around his neck. He blinked in surprise, taken aback by the warmth and weight of her in his arms, which went around her automatically. She squeezed him tight, and then she was gone, up on her feet and jumping at Papyrus, latching onto his arm like a monkey and laughing wildly when he lifted her with ease and swung her back and forth.

"To the next puzzle!" she commanded from her perch.

"YES!" Papyrus agreed enthusiastically as he spun about with her still on his arm, making her laugh and squeal in delight. "YOU'LL NEVER SOLVE THIS ONE, HUMAN, JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE!"

And they were off again, running helter skelter across the snow until Papyrus went down when his boots slipped out from under him on the ice. They both landed in a mound of snow left by the archangel when he'd shoveled the puzzle clear at some point. Alarmed that Frisk might have been hurt, Sans found himself on his feet and halfway across the clearing in a blink, only to draw up short when both puzzle fiends burst out a moment later laughing and completely unharmed.

Alarmed by the way his stomach had dropped out from under him at the spill, Sans took a moment to collect not only himself, but Frisk's walking stick, which she had dropped along the way. Barely a day and he was already picking up after the kid and worrying over her like some sort of mother hen…

A rueful smile crossed the skeleton's face as he absently shook the stick clear of snow and wondered what Ellie would think to see him fretting so. She'd been the only one besides Papyrus he'd ever worried over like that, so to find himself doing so over someone new was… strange. He mulled the feeling over for a moment, then finally came to the conclusion that, though the memories of Eliya stung as much as they ever did, the fact that Frisk had apparently wormed her way into the very exclusive group of people Sans cared about didn't bother him. Ellie, he knew, would have been glad.

"SANS, HURRY UP!" Papyrus shouted, drawing the seraphim's attention back to the present. The pair were already at the head of the path, waiting for him.

"I lost my stick! Do you see it?" Frisk called worriedly.

A chuckle of amusement escaped Sans as he headed towards them. He tapped the girl lightly on the head with her walking stick when he reached them.

"don't lose it again," he warned her, then scoffed and added, "what do I look like, your maid?"

"I don't know," Frisk replied, grinning as she took her stick back. "Maybe. I don't actually know what you look like," she pointed out with a snicker.

Sans rolled his eyes expressively and elbowed her lightly as they all started walking again. "i'm a skeleton."

"Skeletons can't be maids?" she asked slyly.

"SKELETONS CAN BE WHATEVER THEY WANT," Papyrus said. "ALTHOUGH TECHNICALLY WE ARE NOT SKELETONS. WE ARE ANGELS."

"angels that look like skeletons with great big feathery wings on," Sans corrected.

"DETAILS."

* * *

 "How much further is it?" Frisk asked a while later. She was beginning to lag more and more, and for awhile, Sans had thought this was a symptom of her reluctance to get to the end of the trial and fight Papyrus. As she spoke now, though, he realized she must be tired.

"IT'S A WAYS YET," Papyrus informed her, not picking up on the same clues his brother had. He did open his mouth to suggest that flying would be faster, but the flat look Sans leveled at him killed that idea before it escaped his lips.

Frisk's forward momentum slowed to a trudge and she said, "I'm _tired._ "

"WHAT?" Papyrus asked, looking back at her incredulously. "YOU CAN'T BE TIRED! WE'RE NOT EVEN DONE WITH THE PUZZLES YET!"

"But I _am_ tired!" the little girl said with something dangerously close to a pout.

Before things could devolve into an argument, Sans interjected. "cut the kid some slack, bro. this is her second trial today, she already had to do toriel's and she's been taking yours on like a champ. she deserves a break."

Thinking about it, Sans realized that his words weren't just an empty defense on Frisk's part. The girl had come a long way through trying circumstances with barely a break. Even _he'd_ had a nap partway through. No wonder she was pouting.

A thoughtful noise escaped Papyrus and he eventually acquiesced. "OH VERY WELL. I SUPPOSE IT WON'T HURT TO TAKE A BREAK BEFORE THE NEXT PUZZLE."

A smile of relief crossed Frisk's features as Sans glanced around, taking note of where they were. "one of the guard stations is ahead, we can camp there for a bit." Sans said and lead the way, cutting through the forest with Frisk and Papyrus in his wake.

They reached their destination a few minutes later, and the seraphim was glad he'd remembered its location correctly. There were several such little huts scattered about Snowdin Forest, and this was one of the nicer ones. They didn't see much use these days, as they'd been built by the previous trial keeper, but Papyrus liked to have him play human lookout occasionally, so Sans had been making use of them for years.

The front window was shuttered, but the seraphim left it that way and lead them around the back to the door instead, which was unlocked. No one knew where the keys were since the last trial keeper disappeared, so he never locked up. No one but them ever came out there anyways, with the exception of the occasional kid out for a little adventure in the woods.

"Come on in, make yourself comfortable," Sans said as he waved Papyrus and Frisk in ahead of him. "it's no MTT Resort, but hey, better than an igloo."

Frisk felt her way along the wall, getting her bearings, when she found herself kicking several somethings across the creaky wooden floor in front of her. She stopped immediately, concerned that she had knocked something important over. "Sorry," she said.

"no worries. just some condiment bottles," Sans reassured her, kicking a few out of the way himself to make room. There was no furniture in the small shack, but the seraphim reached under the counter on their side of the shuttered check window and dragged out a crate he'd stashed there for the times he found himself spending long hours there for the sake of humoring his brother. Inside it was a half-empty bottle of ketchup, some snacks, a pillow, and a few blankets.

Frisk found her way to his side, and crouched next to the crate, her hands tracing along its rim before exploring the contents. Papyrus, meanwhile, stood in one corner looking vaguely awkward and disapproving at the general state the shack was in.

"SANS, THIS PLACE IS A PIGSTY."

"yeah, i keep chasing them out of here, but they keep coming back," the seraphim replied innocently as he passed Frisk a pillow and blanket, then settled himself in the corner opposite his brother. He used one of the spare blankets as a cushion, then leaned back and drew his coat up around him against the chill.

"THE ONLY PIG IN THESE WOODS IS YOU, SANS," Papyrus scoffed as he finally broke down and slid into a crouch in his corner. He'd veiled his wings as soon as he'd entered the shack and realized the space was far too small to accommodate them comfortably, and he now sat with his knees pulled up to his chest.

Sans just chuckled in reply as Frisk felt around for a moment, then leaned her stick in one corner before plopping down next to him. The seraphim glanced over at her, and his eyebrows shot up when the girl proceeded to drop the pillow he'd given her on his lap and lay her head down on it as though this were the most natural thing in the world. Before he could object, though, she immediately sat back up and carefully removed her flower crown.

When she hesitated, clearly debating on where to put it, Papyrus reached out and gently took it from her. "I WILL PUT IT ON THE COUNTER," he told the girl, and did so.

She smiled sunnily at him and said, "Thanks, Papyrus."

"ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS."

"Archangel Papyrus," she agreed and then yawned so wide her jaw cracked. Frisk then cocooned herself in her blanket and dropped her head back onto Sans' lap and made herself comfortable.

The seraphim stared at her a moment, then said, "you know, i gave you that pillow so you _wouldn't_ have to use one of us as a cushion. If you're gonna use me anyways, you should just give it back so i can use it."

"Nuh-uh," the girl said. "You're too boney!"

Sans rolled his eyes, but smiled. "gee, wonder why that would be."

"Shh," she commanded. "Go to sleep."

The skeleton snorted. "yes ma'am," he murmured and settled back in his corner, resigning himself to being the child's pillow for the duration of her nap.

Twenty minutes later, Sans found himself in that dream-like place just between sleeping and waking when Papyrus spoke, startling him awake.

"ARE YOU DONE YET?"

Sans opened one eye to look at the archangel, who was still seated in a crouch in the corner opposite of him. "Done what, sleeping?" he asked as he tried to muffle a yawn.

"YES," Papyrus said with a beleaguered huff. "I'M BORED."

The seraphim looked down at the little girl in his lap. He couldn't tell if she was well and truly asleep or not, but she made no move to contribute to the conversation, so he assumed she was for the moment. "no, pap. it's only been twenty minutes, kid's gonna need more than that. hell, _i_ need more than that and not only am i not a human, i had a damn nap earlier."

A frustrated sigh escaped his brother as the taller skeleton dropped his head back against the wall with a quiet thunk that made Frisk stir in her sleep. Sans cast Papyrus a sharp look, and the archangel winced apologetically.

Sans settled back to sleep again, eyes drifting shut as he suggested, "why don't you go reset all your puzzles and make sure your next one is ready to go?"

Papyrus lit up at this idea and nodded eagerly. "EXCELLENT IDEA, SANS! I WILL CHECK THAT EVERYTHING IS READY SO THERE ARE NO FURTHER DELAYS!" he said then got to his feet and exited without a backwards glance. Sans listened to him leave, only to hear him hurry back before he got more than a few paces away. He was unable to hide his smile when his younger brother stuck his head back in through the door and said, "I'LL BE BACK LATER, SO DO NOT WANDER OFF WITH THE SMALL HUMAN."

"roger that," Sans replied with a lazy salute, eyes still closed. "don't hurry back on our account."

Papyrus left again, and this time the seraphim heard him take to the air and fly off, leaving them in peace and quiet at last.

"Doesn't Papyrus _ever_ get tired?" Frisk asked, turning her head slightly where it rested on his leg.

"you know, i'm not convinced my brother actually understands the concept of sleep," Sans mused, watching the little girl as she fiddled absently with a golden chain that hung around her neck. The angle she lay at had allowed its length to fall out from under the high collar of her sweater, and eventually, her slender fingers found the pendant that hung from it, and brushed over its surface in a familiar manner. "whatcha got there, kid?" he asked, unable to restrain his own curiosity.

To Sans' surprise, Frisk gave an almost guilty jump and shoved the necklace back down into her sweater and turned her face away from his, back towards his feet. "Nothing," she answered immediately.

The seraphim's brows shot up in surprise at this odd reaction, more curious than ever. "well, alright," he said, clearly unconvinced. "you don't have to be so tight lipped with me, though, you know. i don't even have lips," he joked.

A little laugh escaped the girl, but she shook her head and curled up into a ball, resettling her head on his leg as she did so. After a moment, though, she said, "Sans, I'm cold."

Temperature rarely bothered him, but considering all the tracking around in the snow the girl had been doing that day, the seraphim had no doubt she was chilled to the marrow. Threadbare though it was, even _he_ had a coat. All she had was a sweater. Considering how unexpected her fall into the Underground had likely been, he supposed she was lucky she'd been wearing clothing as practical as she was. He had no idea what season it was up on the surface, but apparently it wasn't winter.

"alright," he said, then opened his eyes and looked around the little shack before doing a few mental measurements. After a moment, he spoke a word that hissed and crackled as it rolled off his tongue, accompanied by a brief flash of warm, golden light. Magic hummed around them and settled into the walls and floor of the guard post with a sigh. Every surface began to radiate a gentle warmth that seeped into both of them and made Sans relax a little more.

"What was _that?_ " Frisk asked, eyes open wide as she rolled onto her back so her face was turned up towards him.

"enochian," Sans answered with a shrug as he closed his eyes once more, relishing the return of warmth. How long had it been since he'd last gone back to the house and slept in his own bed? There was no true night or day in the Underground, so the angels tended to keep their own arbitrary hours. It made keeping track of the passing of days difficult, to say the least.

Though he couldn't see her, he could hear the frown of confusion in Frisk's voice when, after a moment's hesitation, she asked, "Isn't that… isn't that a kind of dumpling?"

Sans laughed aloud, unable to keep his eyes shut any longer. "what?" he asked, still snickering. "no, that's _gnocchi,_ dumpling for brains."

Frisk scoffed and pushed at him ineffectively. "Fine then, what's _gnocchian_?"

"enochian," the seraphim repeated when he managed to stop chuckling at her expense, putting emphasis on the 'e'. "the language of the angels. boy, what are they teaching you kids in school these days?" he mused as he swatted away her hand.

"Math, mostly," Frisk said with a put upon sigh. "I _hate_ math." she rolled back over onto her side once more and settled herself more comfortably, clearly more at ease now that the chill had been dispelled. "So Enochian's magic? Is that why it's warm?"

"to put it simply, yeah," Sans said. "enochian is made up of words of power, so to speak, which is why we don't use it for casual conversation. angels can do all sorts of stuff if they know the right combination," he explained and muffled a yawn.

"Oh," Frisk said as she caught his yawn and completely failed to hide it. "Could you melt all the snow outside?"

"theoretically," Sans replied. "then we'd be trudging through mud to get to snowdin, though, and that's way worse than snow." He glanced down at her, expecting more questions, but was met with silence. It was broken a second later by a little snuffling snore as the girl finally drifted off to sleep.

Relieved, Sans heaved a sigh and allowed himself to do the same.

* * *

 "SANS, HUMAN, WAKE UP!"

Papyrus' voice rang through the little shack and had Sans sitting bolt upright in a flash, tumbling Frisk's head off his lap and onto the floor with a thump. There was a second, much louder thump when the noisy archangel landed on the roof.

"dude, what is your malfunction?!" Sans demanded grumpily as Frisk whined and clamped her pillow over her head.

" _MY_ MALFUNCTION?" Papyrus demanded, and the roof overhead creaked ominously with his footsteps as he walked to the rear of the shack and dropped down. He threw the door wide, letting an unpleasant gush of cold air into their cozy refuge, inspiring sounds of outrage from both occupants. "I HAVE NO MALFUNCTION. _YOU,_ HOWEVER, HAVE BEEN IN HERE FOR NEARLY SEVEN HOURS! ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE NOT MALFUNCTIONING?"

"it's not a malfunction for a human to sleep seven hours, you lunatic," Sans groused unhappily as he zipped his coat up around him and rolled his shoulders. They, and his back, complained loudly at the awkward position he'd slept in.

Frisk added a sour comment of some sort from under her pillow, but muffled as it was neither angel caught it. Papyrus only rolled his eyes and stood there, hand on hip and told his brother, "YOU ARE NOT HUMAN, SANS."

"maybe not," the seraphim said as he got to his feet, "but humankind has sleep down to an art, and i've always been a connoisseur." With that, Sans proceeded to herd Papyrus back out of the guard shed and shut the door sharply behind him. "we'll be out in a minute," he said over his brother's muffled outrage.

With a sigh, Sans pressed his back briefly to the door until he heard Papyrus storm off again, then turned his attention back to Frisk. "hungry, kid?" he asked as he pushed off the door and made his way to the crate under the counter.

" _Yes_ ," the little girl said with such emphasis that Sans glanced up at her and grinned. She pushed aside her blanket, hair thoroughly tousled and sticking up at all angles thanks to static and too long spent sleeping in one position. While he rummaged through the crate for food, Frisk did her best to get the bird's nest under control, to minimal success.

Sand emerged victorious from the depths of the crate with three sandwiches he'd stashed there the week before, and a couple of drinks. Luckily, things had been so cold until they'd arrived that they appeared untouched by mold or anything else objectionable when he examined them.

"mmm, egg salad or peanut butter and jelly?" he asked once he'd managed to identify their contents.

"Ew!" Frisk said with a laugh as she rubbed absently at her face and yawned, then held out one hand and said, "Peanut butter and jelly, please."

Sans put the sandwich in her hand, then set aside the others for himself, and took a second look at the drinks he'd dug up. One was an off brand soda, and the other was apple juice. The seraphim wasn't exactly up on the nutritional requirements of human children, but he was pretty confident you weren't supposed to give them soda for breakfast.

"here, this too," he said and pressed the can of juice into Frisk's hand. When she accepted it and tilted her head in question, Sans added, "it's apple juice."

"Thanks," the little girl replied cheerfully, then sat back on her knees and proceeded to unwrap her sandwich and dig in.

Sans did the same, though after a few bites he paused to open his soda. The sharp hiss-pop filled the shed, and he had to hurry to drink the foam that came gushing out the top before he made a mess. When he had his drink under control, he glanced up and realized that Frisk had hers in hand as well, but extended in his direction in silent request for help as she chewed on her sandwich.

"hold it still," he instructed her, and when the girl had a firmer grip on the can, he reached out and popped the top for her. She smiled around her sandwich at him, and he chuckled a little as she took a sip.

"WHAT IS THIS MUTINY? WHY ARE YOU EATING SNACKS?!" Papyrus demanded, making them both jump and look around at the door which he had opened a crack, apparently with the intent of spying on them. He threw it wide now, and loomed over the pair, toe tapping with impatience.

"want one?" Sans asked as he proffered the third and final sandwich in his brother's direction.

"NO I DON'T WANT-" the archangel began, then paused and asked, "WAIT, WHAT KIND IS IT?"

"Egg-salad," Frisk answered.

"EW."

"That's what I said," the little girl remarked with a commiserative nod.

"what's wrong with you people?" Sans groused half-heartedly, then added in a sly tone, "i think they're _egg-_ cellent."

Papyrus groaned and Frisk laughed, nearly spitting a mouthful of juice in the process, making Sans grin at his own impeccable comedic timing.

The pair quickly finished their meal with Papyrus still looming over them, then tossed the blankets and pillow back in the crate and shuffled the garbage off into one corner with the abandoned condiment bottles.

Before Frisk could don her flower crown, again, though, Sans stopped her. "come here, kid, you're a mess," he observed, then took her gently by the shoulder and turned her so her back was to him.

"I think I look fine," she said and laughed at her own joke.

Sans rolled his eyes but began to carefully finger-comb the girl's short, dark hair in an attempt to force it into some semblance of order. Honestly, he didn't care what the girl's hair looked like, but memories of the careful way Ellie had always tended her curls rose to the surface of his mind to haunt him every time he caught a glance of Frisk's wild mane. Not that El had ever been a priss, but she'd always said that if she left her hair to itself it was liable to mutiny. Whenever he'd taken her flying, she'd always braided it into a crown around her head, especially after their first flight when her hair had become so windblown it'd taken her some twenty minutes to tame it with a comb again. Frisk's locks were far too short to do anything of the sort with, but at least he could make sure her hair didn't become a matted mess.

"IF YOU'RE QUITE DONE PRIMPING THE HUMAN, SANS," Papyrus drawled.

"What's primping?" Frisk asked curiously, then winced a little when Sans' thin fingers caught at a particularly stubborn knot in her hair.

The seraphim scoffed. "he thinks I'm taking all day to beautify you," he said as he finished up his work and then patted the girl on the shoulder. "pap's just jealous, though. even after spending all night on the floor of a shed, we're _both_ still prettier than him."

"EXCUSE ME?!"

Frisk laughed, then flipped her short hair dramatically away from her face with a hand and grinned. "Oh, well obviously."

An offended noise escaped the archangel, and his brother laughed at the little girl's antics. "SO RUDE! AND PATENTLY UNTRUE! SANS, WE BOTH KNOW THAT _I_ AM THE HANDSOME BROTHER."

"Don't worry, Sans, I think you look great," Frisk told him with a friendly pat on his arm and a sly sort of smile.

"gee, thanks kid," the seraphim said, trying to sound offended, but completely incapable in the face of her self-deprecating joke.

"HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW?" Papyrus demanded, not catching her look. "YOU DON'T EVEN-"

Sans rolled his eyes and pushed his brother out of the shed while Frisk chuckled to herself and placed her flower crown on her head once more. "yeah, that's kinda the joke, bro. now, are we doing this puzzle or what? at this rate I'm gonna need another nap."

Papyrus allowed himself to be pushed out into the open air and watched as his brother turned and shut the door after Frisk. "NO. NO MORE NAPS, SANS!" the archangel said with a fierce wag of his finger at the shorter skeleton. "NO MORE NAPS, SNACKS, OR BREAKS UNTIL WE ARE DONE!"

"What if I have to go to the bathroom?" Frisk asked as they started walking again.

This brought Papyrus up short, and he reluctantly agreed, "BATHROOM BREAKS ARE ACCEPTABLE DETOURS, I GUESS."

The little girl masked a smile with one hand while the other set her staff tapping out in front of her, feeling her way down the path between Papyrus and Sans.

It had snowed several inches while they slept, so going was slower than it had been the day before. Papyrus and Sans both had to save Frisk from a spill more than once, and only quick, furtive flapping of the archangel's crimson wings kept him from falling face first on a patch of ice. They all heaved a sigh of relief when they finally made it to their next destination, but the feeling didn't last long for Sans when he realized just what puzzle his brother had lead them to.

"papyrus, you can't be serious," the seraphim said, frowning outright at the gray patchwork arena across the bridge in front of them. "does this thing even work?"

"OH YE OF LITTLE FAITH!" Papyrus said as he lead Frisk to the edge of the floor, then bid her stand still with a hand on her shoulder. At Sans' skeptical look, he continued, "THRONE ALPHYS REPAIRED IT FOR ME LAST WEEK."

"A chair fixed your puzzle?" Frisk asked, nose scrunching up in confusion.

"a throne is a kind of angel," Sans explained distractedly, attention on the deathtrap of a puzzle he'd be having _words_ with Alphys about, assuming he could oust her from that god-forsaken lab of hers in the Core. Granted, since he was traveling with Frisk, there was a chance he'd be forced into her company regardless…

Assuming neither this puzzle, nor his brother, killed the kid first.

"THRONES ARE MUCH LESS POWERFUL THAN ARCHANGELS SUCH AS MYSELF," Papyrus added a little smugly as he started across the trap floor to the control panel on the other side. "BUT ALPHYS IS VERY INTELLIGENT, WHICH IS WHY SHE WAS ALSO GIVEN A TRIAL. YOU'LL HAVE TO BEAT ME TO GET TO HER, THOUGH!"

"So, what do I have to do?" Frisk asked after absorbing this new information.

"IT'S EASY!" Papyrus said, and Sans very nearly choked on this assertion. "IN FRONT OF YOU IS A TILE FLOOR. ONCE I THROW THIS SWITCH, THE TILES WILL BEGIN TO CHANGE COLOR! EACH COLOR HAS A DIFFERENT FUNCTION!" The archangel grinned a little to himself as he put his hand out and rested it on the switch, clearly eager to throw it, but determined to play things by the book. "RED TILES ARE IMPASSABLE! YOU CANNOT WALK ON THEM! YELLOW TILES ARE-"

At this point, Sans tuned out his brother's wildly long winded explanation and watched Frisk's face instead. The longer Papyrus talked, the paler the girl got, and the tighter she clutched her make-shift walking stick. When the archangel was finally done talking, she didn't say a word to him, but turned to Sans instead, and Frisk didn't _need_ to speak for him to know exactly what was going through her head.

"it'll be alright, kid," he said, completely serious as he reached out and gently grasped her shoulder. He could feel her trembling beneath his hand, and Sans found himself faced with a compulsion to wrap the child up in a tight hug. He refrained, though, thinking the unexpected show of affection would likely only frighten Frisk further, rather than reassure her. It felt like too much of a goodbye. So, instead, he gave her a gentle shake and said, "just take it one step at a time. i'll be waiting on the other side. you can do this."

He watched as Frisk gathered herself, then grit her teeth and nodded. Feeling a swell of pride in the girl for her determination, Sans gave her one last pat on the shoulder, then went to join his brother on the other side of the puzzle floor.

"READY?" Papyrus called to the girl.

Frisk nodded, and said, "As I'll ever be."

The archangel laughed and said, "THAT'S THE SPIRIT!" then threw the lever.

There was a loud hum as power surged through the floor, and a cacophony of beeps, whistles, and sirens blared from the machinery while it computed the new, completely random puzzle Frisk would have to face. Papyrus watched the lights flash and dance before them, but his brother's attention was all for the machine, next to which he had positioned himself.

Sans glanced sidelong up at Papyrus to be certain he was unobserved, then lashed out with a sharp kick that caught Alphys' machine in one corner and dented it severely. Thanks to all the noise it was already making, one more bang went completely unnoticed by his brother. If he was being technical (and he had never been technically inclined), Sans knew he was cheating. In his book, though, any kind of puzzle that took five minutes to explain, a scientist to design, and involved _piranhas_ was basically cheating already, so really he was just leveling the playing field.

The lights on the floor flashed as one while Sans discretely kicked up a pile of snow to hide the damage he'd done. A small strangled noise from Papyrus brought his attention back to his brother, though, and it didn't take the seraphim long to figure out what had caused it.

Almost the entire floor had settled into a long block of pink tiles, edged along either side by red. Sans almost laughed outright in relief at this turn of events. He didn't know if it was pure luck, or if his assault on the machine had actually helped, but he wasn't about to look a gyftrot in the mouth over it.

"Um, is it done?" Frisk asked, shuffling uncertainly where she stood as the silence stretched on now that the machinery had cut out.

"YES," Papyrus managed to eek out, voice strangled.

When he didn't say anything else, Frisk tilted her head and asked, "Well, what's the tile in front of me?"

"PINK," the archangel answered tightly.

"Oh," the little girl said, brightening. "Those ones don't do anything, right?"

"THAT IS CORRECT."

Sans was leaning heavily against the control panel now, fighting with everything he had not to break out into gales of laughter. If he did, not only would Papyrus likely throw him off the nearest cliff, the seraphim would be laughing too hard to even do anything about it.

Frisk stepped forward, then asked, "What about the next one?"

"PINK," Papyrus repeated to the girl's obvious surprise.

"Oh! That's lucky! What's next?"

"ALSO PINK," the angel ground out.

"Seriously?" Frisk asked, becoming suspicious now as she stepped forward. It was obvious that he was being truthful, though, as nothing happened when she did. "Next?"

Papyrus was silent, and Sans sank into a crouch with his arms wrapped tight over his stomach as he took deep breaths to keep himself from so much as snickering.

The human thought for a moment, and then, hesitantly asked, "Papyrus, are they… are they _all_ pink?"

The archangel's silence lasted several seconds longer before shattering. "SANS HOW COULD THIS POSSIBLY HAVE HAPPENED?!" he demanded as he rounded on his older brother who lost his hard fought battle and toppled over sideways into the snow, laughing so hard that tears threatened at the corner of his eyes.

Taking Papyrus' lack of direct answer for the yes it was, Frisk walked forward carefully.

"SANS, STOP THAT INCESSANT LAUGHING THIS INSTANT!" Papyrus demanded as he stomped one foot irritably, looking ready to commit violence on his essentially helpless older brother as he rolled about on the ground. The archangel stretched his red wings wide, nearly clipping Frisk in the head as she walked passed.

The girl clutched at her flower crown as it was almost knocked askew, then ducked a little to be certain she wasn't bowled over by the angel's wings. "Sans," she said and used her stick to poke the shorter of the two skeletons in the ribs with uncanny accuracy. "It's not nice to laugh at people like that," the little girl chided him, though she was only just managing to repress the urge herself. She certainly couldn't keep the wide smile off her small, round face in any case.

"THE HUMAN IS RIGHT, STOP BEING RUDE, SANS!" Papyrus said, then grabbed Frisk's walking stick out of her hand and proceeded to poke his brother with it repeatedly. While the human's attack had managed to land, Sans deftly fended off his brother's attempts with a swat of a hand before finally grabbing the end and using it to yank himself to his feet.

"alright, alright," he huffed, still a little breathless as he found his footing once more and brushed himself off. "i'd say don't be such a buzzkill, but considering your puzzle shorted out, i'd say it's a bit late for that."

Papyrus brought Frisk's stick up and then swung it down, fully intending to crack it sharply over his brother's head, but Sans just smiled and caught it mid-descent, then gave it a deft twist and tugged it effortlessly from the archangel's hand.

"HEY-" Papyrus began, only to be cut off.

"it's not nice to take other people's things, pap, especially if you're planning to do someone bodily harm with them. there's rules 'bout that." The seraphim smiled and twirled the stick a few times, then tapped Frisk's hand with one end, prompting her to take it back.

Frisk did so, though she had a thoughtful expression on her face while she listened to the two brothers. Though Papyrus had yet to say any more, his silence was more telling than anything he might have said. Adjusting her hold on her stick, she poked Sans lightly in the chest, and he allowed her to, arching a brow in question at her. She couldn't see him, but she could practically _hear_ the look he was giving her.

"You should apologize to Papyrus," she told him.

"what?" Sans asked, amused as he glanced from the girl and up to his brother, whose feathers fluffed out in surprise at her statement.

"You should apologize when you hurt someone's feelings," Frisk said with a threatening wave of her stick. "Papyrus worked really hard on that and all the other puzzles. It's not nice to laugh at him just because he got upset when it didn't work." She lowered her stick again and planted it in the snow before her, hands resting on the handle. It was clear she didn't intend to budge until she got what she wanted.

"kid, you're sweet," Sans said with a chuckle. "but pap knows I didn't mean it like that, right?" he asked as he glanced up at his much taller brother. The archangel seemed intent on looking anywhere but at him, though, making the seraphim's confident grin slip a few degrees.

"You should be nice to family, Sans," Frisk said, close to giving a foot stomp of her own. Her expression turned sad as she added, "Always say you're sorry, cuz you never know when they won't be there to say sorry _to_ anymore..."

Both angels were staring at her now, taken aback by this piece of wisdom from one so young. Sans wondered for the first time who the girl might have lost back on the surface, and when he glanced sidelong at Papyrus, he got the impression his brother was asking himself the same. Their eyes met briefly, but the archangel quickly averted his, though not before Sans saw the hurt there.

Realizing Frisk's statement wasn't without its merits, the seraphim sighed and murmured, "from the mouths of babes..." Maybe he'd been spending too much time alone after all. Sure, there was a certain peace to be found in solitude, but he was beginning to remember now that there was also peace to be found in the company of family and friends. If he kept going the way he was, though, it wouldn't be long before he alienated himself from what few of those he had left.

Suddenly feeling awkward, but also knowing that the words needed saying, Sans rubbed the back of his head absently and admitted, "the kid's right, bro. i'm sorry. you put a lot of work into all this and i've got no right to laugh at you."

Frisk beamed proudly at him, which only made the seraphim feel more awkward yet, and Papyrus stared at him like he'd spontaneously grown a second head.

"I-" he began, then paused and cleared his throat before continuing. "IT'S ALRIGHT, SANS. IN RETROSPECT, I GUESS IT _IS_ PRETTY FUNNY."

The tension between them eased; Sans grinned up at his taller brother and very nearly confessed his crime. Only concern for Frisk brought him up short, as he knew Papyrus would likely insist she do a different puzzle since she had gotten 'help' on that one, and he wasn't about to put the kid through _that._

"That was real nice of you, Sans," the little girl observed, still smiling happily.

As they all started walking again, the seraphim just huffed in amusement and said, "hey, don't go thinking you can push me around, kid."

"Bet you I can!" the girl replied cheekily and pushed at him with both hands. His stride did not falter so much as an inch, though, and he laughed when she pouted at this turn of events.

"FOR SOMEONE SO SMALL, HE IS TERRIBLY HEAVY, ISN'T HE?" Papyrus observed sympathetically. Then, in a whispered aside to Frisk that was comically loud despite the way he shielded his mouth with one gloved hand, the archangel added, "I KEEP TELLING HIM TO LAY OFF THE CHEESEBURGERS, BUT-"

Without missing a stride, Sans scooped up a handful of snow, rolled it expertly into a ball, then threw it with an marksman's aim directly into his brother's face.

Papyrus sputtered and wiped furtively at his eyes. "SANS! YOU GOT IT IN MY EYE SOCKETS!" the taller angel complained as he shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the offending snow. When he had, he rolled up a snowball of his own and flung it at his brother.

Sans sidestepped neatly, though, and the shot went wide. " _ice_ try, bro," he said and snickered.

"UGH," Papyrus said. Then, with a glimmer in his eye, he turned to Frisk and said "SMALL HUMAN, I SUGGEST A TEMPORARY ALLIANCE! I WILL HOLD MY BROTHER DOWN, YOU WILL SMOOSH SNOW INTO HIS FACE SO I MAY GET MY VENGEANCE!"

"what," Sans said.

Frisk laughed and nodded eagerly, "Okay!"

"hey, come on now," Sans began as they both rounded on him with matching grins of frightening wickedness.

"Better run, Sans!" Frisk said in a sing-song voice. "We're gonna get you!"

"BETTER YET, DO _NOT_ RUN, SANS. IT WILL BE MUCH EASIER TO 'GET YOU' THAT WAY."

"yo, screw that noise," Sans declared as he spun on heel and sprinted off down the path. "good _snow_ in' ya!" he called back over his shoulder.

"SANS GET BACK HERE AND TAKE YOUR MEDICINE YOU AWFUL PUNSTER!" Papyrus shouted as he bolted off after his brother. He doubled back almost immediately to collect Frisk, though. He tucked the girl under one boney arm and she laughed wildly while clinging to the archangel as he ran, cheering him on as he gave chase after Sans.

They never did catch up to the seraphim, though. For all he barely came up to his younger brother's waist, he was quite a lot more agile on the ground, and startlingly fast. Even the mighty leaps and bounds Papyrus took through the woods with the help of his red wings didn't help, as Sans would double back behind them before the archangel's boots even hit the ground.

Frisk laughed through it all, one arm looped around Papyrus', the other maintaining a tight hold on her flower crown, lest she lose it in the chase. She was breathless by the time they finally came to a stop.

"Did you get him?" she asked brightly, turning her head so she could best listen to her 'ride'.

"NO," Papyrus admitted with a deep sigh as he carefully put the girl back on her feet. "SADLY, MY BROTHER IS EXCEEDINGLY TALENTED AT GAMES OF CHASE. A BAFFLING SKILL CONSIDERING HOW SHORT HIS LEGS ARE."

Another snowball smacked Papyrus in the face, making him sputter and Frisk object when the remains dropped down onto her head. The girl tugged off her crown and brushed the snow from her hair before replacing it and asking, "So, where are we? The next puzzle?"

"it's the bridge between snowdin forest and the town itself," Sans explained as he approached, grinning at his brother who was struggling to reign in the urge to chase after him again. The grimace of annoyance dropped off the archangel's face at his brother's words, though, and he went very still when he looked up and realized where they were.

Seeing this, Sans' brow furrowed and he asked, "you alright, pap?"

Papyrus gave a guilty start as he tore his eyes from the gently swaying rope bridge that spanned the gorge before them and looked down at the seraphim. "WHAT? YES, I'M FINE," he insisted in a way that did not convince Sans in the least.

The prospect of actually making it into town was enough to belay the seraphim's questions for later, though. So instead, Sans turned to Frisk and said, "the bridge is a real nasty number. you'd best let me or papyrus carry you." The little girl frowned fiercely in his direction, and despite having known her all of two days, Sans knew precisely what she was about to say. Before she could do so, he added, "i'm not trying to baby you, kid. It's a rickety hanging bridge with no railings that sways like a bi-" The angel's teeth clicked together audibly as he censored himself, and a huff of amusement escaped him before he pressed on. "sways to all get out when you're on it. doesn't get used much on account of everyone around here, you know...being able to fly."

He was practically the only one that used the thing these days, in fact. The unsteady construction of rope and wood was one that made even him wary, enough so that he'd actually gotten together rope to make a handrail for it. Unfortunately, he hadn't actually _done_ that yet, so…

"O-oh," Frisk stammered at this news, blanching a little at his description. She was a brave girl, but even she had her limits; Sans was just glad she was self aware enough to know them. "Alright, that's okay I guess," she continued, then reached out towards him.

Again, the unquestioning trust she placed in him to keep her safe cut through him like someone had slipped a dagger up between his ribs. He'd just described a veritable death trap of a bridge but she trusted _him_ to carry her across it to safety.

Trying very hard to push down the swell of emotion that threatened at her words ( _again_ ), Sans stepped forward to pick the child up, only to be brought up short by Papyrus, who said, "NO, YOU CAN'T!"

"what?" Sans asked, one brow shooting up immediately at his brother's exclamation and the desperation that was writ clear over his angular face. "why?"

"WELL..." Papyrus began, shifting uncomfortably as his eyes, yet again, were drawn back to the bridge while Frisk frowned in confusion between them.

Sans' eyes narrowed and his smile dropped altogether.

"what did you do?" he asked, and there was something new in the seraphim's voice that Frisk had never heard before. She'd thought her strange new friend had a nice voice from the moment she met him, though she'd been terrified at the time. It was very low; lower than most adults' back home, with a cadence that still somehow managed to be light and friendly. When he laughed, she wanted to laugh too. Sans had a _friendly_ voice, and being sightless as Frisk was, a person's voice went a long ways towards forming her mental picture of them.

Now, though, there was something lurking beneath Sans' words that she had never heard before. It was as if some great leviathan were stirring beneath the waves that were her friend's voice, reminding the girl with shocking abruptness that she knew precious little about _either_ of these people, no matter how much she might like them.

The air around her felt charged and heavy, like the world had gone very still in anticipation of something important about to unfold.

Sans' eyelights had snuffed out, leaving only wide, dark holes for his brother to stare into; something he couldn't _not_ do, no matter how he tried. Not when the seraphim spoke in that tone. Without realizing it, the older skeleton had unveiled his wings, and ruined or not, they flared hugely behind him, dwarfing his brother's crimson ones. Long-unused power rose from within the seraphim, starting behind his breastbone and spreading out until it poured off every inch of him to fill the air.

" _what did you do?_ " he asked a second time, words commanding his brother to answer truthfully.

"NOTHING," Papyrus gasped, knees in danger of buckling at the weight of his brother's will pressing against his own.

Stars above, he'd forgotten. He'd forgotten the _power_ Sans held within him even now with one ruined wing. Then again, the seraphim had made it so very easy to forget it in the two hundred years since the fall when he'd failed in his attempt to shatter the barrier that kept them all down there. He'd been ambling about in shabby clothes playing the harmless jokester for so long now that Papyrus knew he wasn't the only one who had conveniently forgotten that Sans was one of the most powerful people in the Underground.

There was a reason he was keeper of the sixth trial, after all.

His brother would never harm him; Papyrus knew that to be one of the fundamental truths of the universe in the same way he knew up was up, down was down, and the sky, though very far from them now, was blue. That did not, however, mean that Sans might not become very, _very_ angry with him.

"S-sans?"

Frisk's small, shaking voice cut through the tension like a hot knife through butter and made Papyrus start and finally break Sans' gaze. It was the girl's small hand on his arm that broke the seraphim from his intense state, though, and made him realize what had happened.

The lights flared back to life in his eye sockets and Sans took a breath. He glanced at Frisk and opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but one look told the skeleton all he needed to know. His little display of power had shaken the girl, and an intense wave of guilt for being the cause of her fright drove him to shift his arm so he caught her hand with his.

"i'm sorry," he said immediately as he veiled his wings once more, and Frisk was relieved to hear the strangeness gone from his voice. Sans glanced up at Papyrus so his brother would know the words were meant for him as well. The archangel nodded his acceptance and the seraphim barely restrained a sigh of relief. It had been a long time since he'd used any sort of divine power, but the prospect of something awful being inflicted on the little girl clutching his hand had been enough to drive him to it without a backwards glance.

He was beginning to think the girl was dangerous after all. Not for any threat she posed herself, but because of what he might feel compelled to do on her behalf...

Sans took another breath and then smiled softly at Frisk. Her head had dropped so he could not see her face, so he gave her hand a gentle shake and asked, "you okay kid?" She didn't answer, but tightened her hold on him, so he spoke again, tone gentler yet. "did i scare you?"

Silence, and then, "A little," she admitted.

"i'm sorry," he repeated again. "i just..." the seraphim's free hand rubbed the back of his skull absently and his breath all rushed out of him in one noisy whoosh. "i worry about you, kid," he admitted with a wry smile.

Frisk's sightless hazel eyes went wide as she turned her face up towards him once. "Really?" she asked.

Sans laughed. "well, yeah."

"'Cuz we're friends?" the girl asked, a smile creeping back across her features.

The seraphim's brows shot up in surprise at the suggestion, then dropped as his smile widened. Who could possibly say no to _that?_ "yeah, cuz we're friends, frisk. dunno what's possessed me to put my street cred at risk for a huge nerd like you, but-"

A little squeal of displeasure escaped the girl and she pushed at him, making him laugh. "You're so rude!" she said, but he only laughed more. Despite this, Frisk maintained her hold on the seraphim as she turned to Papyrus, who had remained curiously silent through this exchange, and offered him her free hand after tucking her walking stick under her arm. "We're friends too, right Papyrus?" she asked hopefully.

Sans turned to regard his brother and watched the archangel reach out as though to accept, only to snatch his gloved hand back at the last moment, a small tremor wracking his tall frame. The seraphim quirked a brow at this, smile dropping as his younger brother took a step back, eyes shooting to the bridge again.

"I-I CAN'T," he said finally.

The way Frisk's face fell at his words was heartbreaking. Sans winced and it wasn't even _directed_ at him. Papyrus flinched visibly and took another step back.

"YOU HAVE TO FIGHT ME, FIRST," he declared suddenly.

"What? Now?" Frisk asked, startled. "I thought there was another puzzle?"

Sans' eyes narrowed again as he watched Papyrus shake his head and say "NO MORE PUZZLES, SMALL HUMAN, IT IS TIME TO FACE THE FINAL PART OF THE TRIAL: ME."

Papyrus, the seraphim realized abruptly, didn't want Frisk to face whatever was built into the bridge. So much so that he'd rather the girl fight him then and there because he felt it was safer for her to face an archangel than a puzzle.

Sans had crossed that bridge many times and never stopped to wonder if it, too, were a trap of some kind. It had stood for time out of mind, since they'd all wound up down there. Besides him, only the occasional human that fell into the Underground ever made use of it, so it made sense that it might also be a puzzle of some sort. Judging by the way Papyrus was hedging, though, it wasn't one of _his_ design. It must have been left behind by the previous trial keeper before they'd met their unfortunate end at the hand of the last human that had passed through Snowdin.

"But I-" Frisk began, brow furrowing unhappily as she dropped her hand at her side.

She stopped when Sans gave her hand a gentle squeeze, though, and said, "it's time, kid."

Frisk turned to him, on the verge of tears.

Sans looked at Papyrus and jerked his head towards the bridge, "give us a minute."

The archangel hesitated, then nodded and made his way towards the bridge and stationed himself like a sentry before it, his back to them.

"I don't want to fight him," Frisk said for the second time in as many days when he'd gone, voice barely a whisper.

"i know you're scared, frisk," Sans said as he released his hold on her in favor placing a hand on each of her thin shoulders.

The girl shook her head. "It's not just that."

The seraphim sighed and nodded. "i know," he said again. It was obvious that Frisk was fond of his brother, and it was just as obvious that Papyrus felt the same. He shouldn't have let them become so chummy over the course of the trial, he knew, but how could he have possibly denied either of them? It'd been decades since he'd last seen his brother have an afternoon of honest fun the way he had yesterday. And Frisk? Well, the two numbskulls were like a couple of peas in a pod with their love of puzzles, her energy matching Papyrus' perfectly, quite possibly making her the only person in the Underground capable of keeping up with him for any stretch of time. "but you have to," he finished, and the girl didn't have to see the frown on his face to know how unhappy that made him.

"How?" she asked, seeming smaller than ever as she stood before him, cowed in the face of what was expected of her.

He had no idea.

As he looked her up and down, though, Sans' gaze lit upon her make-shift cane. "give me your stick," he told her.

Frisk's brow furrowed, but did as she was told. Sans took it from her and twirled it absently, getting a feel for it in a way he hadn't taken the time to do before. A deft spin sent it soaring up into the air, then dropping back to land in the seraphim's waiting hand. It was well balanced, he noted, a little heavy on the top end, but that was best for a walking stick. Or a bat.

Smiling slyly to himself, Sans said, "step back, kiddo."

"Sans, what are you doing?" Frisk asked warily, but stepped back a healthy distance all the same, her worry forgotten for the moment in the face of her friend's odd behavior.

"oh just...leveling the playing field," he told her. "now keep quiet so i can work."

Sans held the walking stick vertically in one hand before him, the other hovering over the top end as he summoned his power for the second time that day. This time, though, he did it with intent, and the answering surge of divine energy that roared up from the depths of his soul nearly rocked him back on his heels. The seraphim quickly reigned it in until it was a controlled hum racing along his bones that sprang forth to do his bidding as he began to speak.

The series of words Sans spoke next made Frisk's ears burn and her teeth ache. In an attempt to relieve the discomfort, the little girl clapped her hands over her ears and clamped her mouth shut tight. No matter how hard she pressed, though, his words echoed just as loud, as though they were actually in her _mind_ rather than the air between them.

Power wove itself around Frisk's walking stick, guided by the complicated enochian spell Sans wove on her behalf. By the time he was done, the seraphim was breathing hard, and if he'd had skin, he would have been sweating. It'd been a long time since he'd done that sort of magic, and thanks to his ruined wing, it had never before been so difficult. When he let the power fade, though, and he looked at his handiwork, Sans knew it was worth it.

The seraphim smiled smugly to himself, then handed the stick back to Frisk with a casual, "there you go."

"It's warm," she mumbled as she accepted it and ran her fingers over its length. She could feel no obvious physical difference in his gift to her, though the longer she held it, the more she realized it _remained_ warm to the touch, and buzzed with a subtle energy she could only just make out.

"Yeah, it'll probably stay that way," Sans said with a shrug as he caught his breath. Though no one else would notice his cunning spellwork unless they were specifically looking for it, he could see it plain as day. The pale wood shone with slowly shifting enochian symbols denoting protection, guidance, durability, accuracy, and a few other things he'd expertly interwoven and sunk deep into its length.

"What did you do?" Frisk asked curiously, brow furrowed a little as she added, "It almost feels… alive or something." Indeed, the magic that now inhabited her walking stick seemed to pulse under her fingers, strong and slow like the heartbeat of something far larger than herself.

Sans tilted his head this way and that as he debated on his answer. "made it stronger for you," he answered eventually, deciding to keep it simple. "you'll be able to fend of magic attacks now, which you're gonna need if you're gonna get through this fight with pap." He grinned, then, and added, "like i said, just wanted to level the playing field for you."

"Oh," Frisk said, awed as she ran her fingers over her stick for the umpteenth time. She wasn't sure she would ever get used to the pleasant hum of it against her skin. The longer she held it, the more attuned to the sensation she became. "Thank you," the girl said, perfectly earnest as she stepped forward and threw her arms around Sans. "It… it means a lot, you worrying about me and doing..." she waved her stick a little behind his back, " _this_ for me."

Sans was much quicker to return the gesture this time than he had in times past. Repeated exposure seemed to be relieving him of the shock of unexpected hugs, and he found he was able to enjoy them a little more. "no problem," he said quietly, just as earnest as he gave the child a brief squeeze. He pushed her back out to arm's length after a moment, though, and said, "time to listen up, though. i don't think pap is gonna let us dally much longer, so pay attention."

The seraphim glanced back towards his brother, and while Papyrus still stood with his back to them, apparently oblivious to the magic Sans had been working, the older angel could tell by the way the archangel was shifting that he was becoming impatient.

Luckily, Frisk caught on to the importance of the moment, and nodded, stick clutched in both hands as she waited for him to speak.

"papyrus is… well, papyrus is a good guy, frisk," Sans began with a rueful smile that made the girl tilt her head to one side, brow furrowed as though wondering why he was telling her the obvious. "the best of guys, if we're being honest. way better than me," the seraphim chuckled at his own admission, then added, "if you ever tell him i said that, though, i'll deny it."

"You _should_ tell him that, though," Frisk said with a small frown. "Why wouldn't you tell him that all the time if you think it?"

Sans opened his mouth to answer, but no words came so he snapped his mouth shut with a click once more. He glanced back over his shoulder at Papyrus, his brow furrowed at the girl's innocent question. Once again she was holding his feet to the flames when it came to his brother, and though his first instinct was to say that Papyrus _knew_ what Sans thought of him, he was forced to check that assumption. _Did_ his little brother know how proud he was of him? Did Papyrus know that his older brother admired the open, ever hopeful way he was able to look at the world, and how he always gave people the benefit of the doubt? Had Sans ever actually told him that he'd drag the world down around all their ears if he thought there was the slightest chance it'd mean Papyrus would be able to see the sky again? He'd never admitted that it wasn't just getting back to Ellie that had driven him to throw himself against the barrier that separated them from the world above over and over again until his already injured left wing had been damaged beyond repair. The prospect of his little brother being trapped in that grave-like dark had been pushing him just as hard as thoughts of _her_ had been pulling.

Sans grit his teeth and took a deep breath before turning his attention back to Frisk. "you've gotta stop doing these emotional numbers on me kid," he said, voice rough as he tried to laugh it off. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her shoulder again and gave it a shake. "not now. you're right, i need to talk to my brother more, but we need to get you through this trial first, alright?"

Frisk frowned but nodded. "Alright," she said. "Tell me what I need to know."

The seraphim nodded, feeling a little relieved that she'd agreed to drop the subject for now. He'd forgotten the uncanny ability some children had to put adults on the spot with seemingly simple questions that had anything _but_ simple answers. Had he been like that as a kid? He barely even remembered his childhood anymore. God, had he _ever_ been that young?

Sans gave himself a shake before he slipped back into thought again. "like i was saying, pap's a great guy; he doesn't want to fight you, but it's his job so he'll do it anyways. he'll beg you to just give in so he can take you to the capital without hurting you," Sans explained. "whatever you do, you _cannot let him do that._ let him take you and you're as good as dead."

Frisk looked shaken at his words. "I thought you said he didn't want to hurt me?" she asked, voice tight.

"he doesn't," the seraphim clarified. "but the person he'd take you to will. pap doesn't know. asgore never told him, and i didn't either because i know it'd just make things harder on him," Sans said tiredly.

"But shouldn't he know?" Frisk asked, voice going up an octave. "Maybe he'd stop! Maybe he wouldn't do the trial anymore if he knew people were getting hurt!"

"kid, pap doesn't have a choice in this either way. _none_ of the angels running the trials do, you understand?" Sans said, voice gone hard at this admission. The girl in front of him was on the verge of tears again and the skeleton had to force his eyes away to save himself the pain of watching her.

"I thought angels were supposed to be nice," the girl sniffled as she wiped furtively at her damp eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "Why does everyone but you want to hurt me, Sans?" she asked, eyes gone wide as she turned her face up to him, bottom lip caught between her teeth in an attempt to keep from crying.

There was that stabbing sensation in his heart again. It practically winded him, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel like throwing up a bit. How would she react if she knew that he too was tasked with bringing her heart to Asgore? Would that vibrant, determined spirit of hers crumple before his eyes? Would she wail and cry, or just go quiet and numb as he had seen others do? Would she lay down and give up?

Would she hate him?

"kid," Sans said, unable to keep the pain from his voice as he pulled one hand into his sleeve and used the cuff to wipe away the tears that had begun rolling down her reddened cheeks. "kid, _none_ of us _want_ to hurt you. but we-"

"Don't have a choice," she finished unhappily.

Sans was silent as he finished cleaning her up. "yeah," he said finally, heart cold and heavy as ice in his chest.

* * *

 Frisk's grip on the stick Sans had given her tightened as she waited for Papyrus to speak. She could hear him a few yards ahead of her, breathing quick but steady as he shifted slightly from one foot to the other. The soft, silk sigh of feathers betrayed the restless flexing of his wings. Behind him was the distant creak of the old wood and rope bridge to Snowdin that swayed gently in a chill wind that surged up and over the cliffs from the depths of the Underground.

Sans was somewhere nearby, but unlike his larger brother, he made no movement that betrayed his presence, though the girl dearly wished he would.

She shivered and grit her teeth.

"HUMAN… FRISK. PLEASE GIVE UP AND COME WITH ME, I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU," Papyrus said, just as Sans had predicted, distress clear in his voice.

"I don't want you to hurt me either," she said with a weak smile as she adjusted her stance, ready to move at the slightest sound of movement.

"THEN-"

"I can't. I'll never be able to go home if I do," Frisk insisted unhappily. "Please, just let me pass, Papyrus! I don't want to fight!"

Though she couldn't see it, a pained expression passed over the archangel's face as he watched her set her shoulders, determined to make it past his trial. "I'M SORRY," he said. "I-I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE."

A sad smile stole across the girl's features and she said, "I know."

Papyrus nodded, then swept his right hand through the air before him, the fabric of reality rippling in the wake of its passing. A flick of his wrist plunged his hand into the dark void that made up the space between places, and when he pulled it free again, he held a glittering rapier of unnatural sharpness.

Frisk heard him flick the long blade up in salute, perfectly honed steel singing through the air at the slightest movement. Sans' words of warning came immediately to mind at the sound.

' _whatever you do, keep your distance. pap's weapon of preference is a rapier, and i'm not fooling when i say he's so fast with the damned thing that it wouldn't matter if your eyes_ _ **did**_ _work, because you'd still never see him coming.'_

The silken sigh of feathers shifting was all the warning Frisk had, but it was enough. Papyrus lunged forward, closing the distance between them with shocking speed. The girl threw herself to the side and rolled when she hit the ground, bouncing to her feet and reorienting herself as her opponent skidded to a stop just shy of the tree-line some distance away.

Papyrus turned and took his stance once more, surprised by her quick movements. He'd been aiming to disarm her of her stick and pin her in hope of scaring her into surrender, but he'd failed. The archangel glanced up at his brother who stood watching silently beside the bridge. His face was carefully neutral, though the white lights of his eyes followed their every movement across the snow.

The taller skeleton wondered unhappily if his brother would ever forgive him for capturing the human girl who had so thoroughly captivated the both of them with her sweet smile, bravery, and kind heart. Never mind that Papyrus would likely never forgive himself; he hadn't seen Sans act so close with someone that wasn't him since the fall. He felt cruel, taking that from the seraphim when he had already lost so much. They had all lost a lot when they'd been trapped in the Underground, but Sans had fared worse than most.

Papyrus took a breath and lunged again, and found himself rushing through empty air instead of into Frisk. To the archangel's mounting frustration, a third and fourth attempt each played out the same. While his wing assisted lunges let him close the distance between himself and an opponent quickly, he moved in a straight line for quite some ways if he missed. The snow on the ground only made stopping more difficult. The archangel gave up on this and ran at the girl instead, only for her to bolt, zig-zagging this way and that across the open space between the bridge and the tree-line so quickly that even his long legs couldn't keep up.

"WHY DO PEOPLE WITH SUCH SHORT LEGS RUN SO FAST?" Papyrus demanded as he made a grab for the girl, only to miss and slip on a patch of ice, sending him to the ground in a tangle of his own long limbs. Frisk danced quickly out of arm's reach, panting as she caught her breath.

"Papyrus, let's stop," she said hopefully. "This isn't fun. I wanna… I wanna do more puzzles with you! And I really want to try your spaghetti! Can't we do that instead?"

A distant snort of amusement allowed the girl to orient on Sans, making her smile a briefly though she quickly turned her attention back to Papyrus. The archangel was slowly pushing himself back to his feet. His breath was labored, more so than their brief bout of running should have made possible, making her worry for him.

"Pap?" she asked, make-shift cane clutched tight in her small hands as her brow furrowed in concern. "Pap are you alright?"

From where he stood beside the bridge, Sans immediately recognized his brother's distress for what it was. The seraphim was forced to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from calling out to Papyrus; he couldn't interfere. This was his brother's fight, not his…

That's what he kept telling himself anyways.

"JUST-" Papyrus began, voice tight as he gained his feet once more and thrust his rapier into the belt at his hips, head bowed in an attempt to hide his distress. "JUST HOLD STILL!"

The archangel's hand snapped up and he spoke a word that made the air between them crackle and groan like something under terrible pressure. Alarmed at this turn in the battle, Frisk raised her stick before her in fear of some oncoming strike she could not make out. Rather than a blow to her person, though, the girl felt her legs go numb as ice sprang up beneath her feet, rooting her in place before crawling swiftly up the length of her body.

' _all angels are able to use magic, kiddo, not just me. enochian harnesses the divine power in us and lets us change the world around us. how powerful they are depends on the individual, and so does their preferred method of attack. papyrus has always been good with ice, so watch your step and keep moving.'_

Just as the magic passed her waist, Frisk swung her stick down hard against her own ice encased legs. There was a bright flash and suddenly she was free, stumbling away, legs sluggish but rallying quickly as warmth returned to them.

"WHAT?!" Papyrus demanded, taken aback and baffled by this turn. "BUT-" Frisk was already fleeing, though, so he stopped demanding answers and acted instead.

The archangel spoke a string of words this time and lifted both hands to eye level. The movement stirred the air and set it ringing like a hundred tiny wind chimes as quickly forming ice crystals clashed inward at his command, forming a dozen icicles as long as Frisk was tall. Papyrus jerked both arms down diagonally, launching the projectiles at the human's retreating back, aiming to pin her in place or trip her up.

Frisk heard them coming, though was not so adept that she could hope to dodge the attack. Desperate, she skidded to a stop in the snow and turned sharply to face the onslaught head on, swinging her stick like a bulk of the icicles flew past her and thudded deep into the ground behind her. Another shot straight between her legs, and the last she smashed from the air with a strike that rang like a bell.

Again there was a flash of light at the impact, but this time Papyrus realized what had happened.

"SANS!" the archangel bellowed, "YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS, AREN'T YOU?!"

"what's that, bro?" Sans asked innocently from where he stood. He hadn't budged so much as a step the entire battle, though it had taken all of his willpower to keep himself firmly in place. Whatever happened was wholly between Papyrus and Frisk, he couldn't let himself have any part of it beyond what he had already done. His hands were fisted tight in the pockets of his worn jacket, and his teeth hurt from gritting them so tight as he watched the girl avoid one attack after another, just as he had told her to. "looks like you two are having a _blast_ to me."

"THE STICK! YOU BLESSED THE STICK, DIDN'T YOU?"

"no rules against that," the seraphim hedged.

Papyrus threw his arms in the air, seeming disgusted. "YOU TURNED A STICK INTO A HOLY RELIC, SANS! THAT IS SACRILEGE!"

Sans scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "it is _not_ sacrilege, pap. there's no rules on what you turn into a holy relic."

"THEY'RE MEANT TO BE SWORDS AND SHIELDS AND- AND GOBLETS AND THINGS, SANS! NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD THINK TO TURN A **STICK** INTO A HOLY RELIC, THAT'S WHY THERE'S NO RULES ABOUT IT!"

Well, his brother wasn't wrong. Seraphim and the Creator were the only ones capable of creating 'holy relics': items of tremendous power that repelled evil with their very presence. The last one Sans had made was a sword some king wound up using to take over an entire island after he'd pulled it from the rock the seraphim had left it sunk up to the hilt in. He'd always meant to go back for it later. The king's reign had turned into a mess after awhile, though, and last Sans had heard the sword was at the bottom of a lake somewhere. He never _had_ gotten around to fetching it back…

Needless to say, a human with their hands on a holy relic could change the world if they swung it right. The one he had gifted to Frisk was of unusually humble origins, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't wonder just how that might… affect things.

"i was just leveling the playing field is all," Sans said with a smile as he waved a hand at the sword on the archangel's belt. "you've got a holy relic of your own, _plus_ magic. least i could do was give her a weapon of her own."

Papyrus grumbled a little at this, but it occurred to the seraphim that he was not doing so very energetically. Perhaps he felt a little better that Frisk was not quite so helpless as he'd initially thought. Fighting a blind ten year old was bad enough without fighting a blind, _unarmed,_ ten year old.

As the brothers argued, Frisk ran her fingers over her stick once more, awed by the roar of power that had surged through it when it had clashed with Papyrus' magic and turned the ice into snow. It pulsed against the skin of her palms, warm and reassuring as she squeezed it tight in silent gratitude.

She heard Papyrus turn back towards her, and the girl readied herself for the next attack, heart pounding almost painfully behind her ribs. She was still afraid (terrified, really), but the soft hum of magic emanating from her stick helped Frisk keep her head and focus. Knowing she had the ability to defend herself made all the difference in the world. Sans really hadn't been joking when he said he'd give her a fighting chance.

Granted, that didn't mean she wanted to fight Papyrus any more than she had five minutes ago.

Papyrus was moving again, so Frisk did the same, keeping the distance between them wide so he wouldn't have an opportunity to use his sword against her. Even with a magic stick she knew she'd have no chance against him, Sans had told her as much and she believed him wholeheartedly. A faint tingling sensation rippled up her spine, and a moment later Papyrus spoke another spell, different from the last.

The ground at her feet trembled, and Frisk broke into a run as spire of ice erupted behind her, pursuing the girl across the clearing. Acting on blind hope, she pulled a loop when she feared she was coming too close to the cliff (was Sans allowed to warn her of that? It was impossible to say without taking time she didn't have to ask) and doubled back on the growing wall of ice. She knew she was nearing from the way sound bounced off its jagged surface and back towards her. When she was barely a yard away, she lashed out with her stick and whooped when it shattered a hole through the ice with a second bell toll, allowing her to leap through.

The sound of magical pursuit died off, leading the girl to think the archangel's magic must not be capable of passing through itself with that particular spell, something she filed away for later. A word from Papyrus made the entire thing explode into a cloud of snow that fell to the ground and surged towards her in a mighty wave like an avalanche without the mountain. It swept Frisk from her feet with a startled cry, tumbling her head over tail back towards the archangel.

Knowing it would be the end of the fight if he were to get his hands on her, the girl rolled desperately onto her stomach under the onslaught, feeling as though she were swimming against a mighty tide, and thrust her cane down as hard as she could. Despite the ground being frozen, and the stick not at all sharp, it plunged into the earth, serving as an anchor for Frisk to cling to as the charmed snow roared past. When it had, she dropped to the ground spitting ice and shaking snow from her hair. Against all odds, her flower crown was still in place on her head, just barely. As Frisk got to her feet, she straightened it and pulled it down a little tighter for fear of losing it before turning to face Papyrus once more.

The archangel was breathing hard now, and Frisk wondered just how difficult magic was for angels. Worried for her tall friend, the girl called, "Please, Papyrus! Someone is going to get hurt if we keep doing this! I'm..." she hesitated for a moment and, shaking from both cold and fear, said "I'm afraid!"

"IF YOU ARE AFRAID," Papyrus said as he fought to catch his breath, "THEN YOU MUST FIGHT."

"I won't!" Frisk shouted furiously, anger bringing some of the warmth back to her small, frigid frame. "I won't hurt a friend just because of some… of some _stupid_ trial and its _stupid_ rules!" Unshakeable determination gave the girl's words a steely edge that made Papyrus take a step back in surprise. "I'm going home," Frisk shouted, tears springing to her sightless eyes, "and I'm gonna do it without hurting anyone; I don't care how much you dumb angels argue with me!"

Sans bit back a laugh, torn between admiration and despair at the girl's declaration. Frisk's passionate words shook her small body with their force, and the seraphim's own breath hitched in his chest. Terror, absolute terror for what the brave child challenging his brother still had to face shook Sans to the core; but at the same time he felt so fucking _proud_ of her for shouting down the establishment that he wanted to laugh.

A small, despondent noise was all the response Papyrus could muster, and Sans could do nothing but pity his brother. His heart was so clearly not in the fight, but he was compelled to fulfill his duty, so he fought on. Frisk was finding her stride with the battle, though, while the archangel was quickly draining his magical reserves trying to capture her. Just as Frisk would not lay a hand (or stick) on him, though, Papyrus would not lash out with the intent to harm. The fight would have been over in a moment if he had…

But he refused.

Another ice wall was summoned, but Frisk broke through it. Icy tendrils grasped at her ankles like creeping vines, but she danced nimbly out of their reach. Swaying where he stood, Papyrus raised his arms once more and spoke a long string of enochian that boomed across the clearing and summoned every patch of snow there into something resembling a massive serpent that followed his every gesture. Where Frisk fled, it circled and shifted, corralling her closer to its master until she struck one section of its body with her weapon, creating an opening for her to dodge through.

In a final act of desperation, Papyrus guided the serpent upwards into a massive arc that plunged headlong towards Frisk. Realizing it was too large to hope to flee, the human gripped her staff in both hands and lifted it above her head.

The two forces met with a quite 'whumph' that erupted into a deafening boom and knocked both fighters clean off their feet.

Sans was halfway across the clearing before he'd even realized he'd moved. To his immense relief, Frisk was already stirring, unsteadily fighting her way clear of a newly formed snowbank. Papyrus, on the other hand, lay face down in the snow, unmoving.

"bro!" Sans said as he slid to a stop and dropped immediately to his knees next to his younger brother. "papyrus? speak to me, buddy," the seraphim said, heart pounding quick and panicky in his chest as he struggled to cradle the larger skeleton as best he could.

A soft groan escaped Papyrus, then, and Sans could have fainted with relief. "I AM...VERY TIRED," the archangel said, eyes shut and words barely above a whisper.

A laugh that landed just this side of hysteria escaped Sans and he said, "who, you? never thought i'd see the day. that was some flashy magic back there, pap."

Hurried, unsteady steps heralded Frisk's arrival and she caught herself on Sans' shoulder before she ploughed right over him and Papyrus. "Is he okay?" she asked, wide-eyed and worried. "Did he get hurt?"

"he'll be alright, kid," Sans said with a weak chuckle. "you tired him out, is all. too much magic all at once can do that to an angel."

"Oh," Frisk said, a dangerous tremor in her voice. She dropped to her knees beside him and sniffled. "Oh,that's good. I'm… _I'm so glad_ ," the girl added, smiling broadly as tears poured down her cheeks.

"yeah," the seraphim agreed, heartily wishing he could have a good cry himself without looking a fool. He hadn't even been the one fighting. Papyrus should be the one cutting loose. Instead of tears, though, a snore escaped the archangel whose head now rested in Sans' lap, startling a laugh from his older brother.

"Is he _snoring_?" Frisk demanded wetly as she mopped at her face with a sleeve, giggling at the absurdity of the situation.

Sans just laughed and dropped his head, shoulders shaking with the force of it. He wiped tears of what he would swear up and down was mirth from the corners of his eyes and nodded. "yeah, think so, kiddo," he said and turned his gaze heavenward as he caught his breath and got himself under control once more. When he dropped his eyes back to the little girl beside him, he asked, "you know what that means?"

"What?" she asked, pausing the in middle of giving Papyrus' arm a gentle pat, her head tilting to one side curiously.

"you won, kid. you beat the second trial," Sans informed her with a grin that threatened to split his skull right in two. "pap can't fight anymore so-"

"So I win!" Frisk finished for him, her face lighting up with a smile that put the sun to shame. Her delight warmed Sans' heart and compelled him to reach out and wrap her up in a one-armed hug, dragging her in tight against his side.

"you sure did, frisk," he said and chuckled as he squeezed her tight, making her squeal and laugh. "i'm proud of you, kid."

Flushing red at the praise, Frisk buried her face in his shoulder and said, "Thanks, Sans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT QUESTION:** I already asked at the top but i'll do so again for those that skipped – do you guys want shorter updates more frequently? Or do you like having super long, less frequent updates like this one? Please drop a review and let me know! Also let me know what you think of the chapter! I'm posting these as I finish, so getting reviews really helps me keep plugging along with writing!


	3. Sleepover Paradigm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, so sorry this took longer than anticipated to post! As you may (or may not) know, 'Breath of the Wild' came out at the beginning of the month and I spent a good week or two doing nothing but play that in my free time, so my writing suffered considerably 8'D Apologies. My sister and I just beat it tonight, though, so that's that out of the way ahaha.
> 
> Secondly, thanks so much to everyone that has been leaving me reviews! They make me so happy, you have no idea! Gold stars for you!
> 
> Thirdly, in regard to the question of length I posed at the end of last chap, it seems like all but a few are down with me writing whatever length suits me, so we'll go with that. That said, the Third Trial is turning out much bigger than anticipated thanks to the stuff going on before and during it, so it's getting split up so I don't wind up dropping a 60k chapter on you guys XD Even ** _I_** think that's a little excessive, lol.
> 
>  **Because this chapter is so long** I've decided to forgo the usual page breaks and use 'XXXX' instead, so if you have to stop reading partway through the chapter you can just do a find for XXXX and be able to jump chunks to find where you were faster. I'll probably keep doing this in future chapters too since I doubt they'll be getting much shorter, lol.
> 
> Finally, huge shout-out to my sister, nighttimelights for editing for me! She's actually edited all three chapters, I'm just terrible and completely forgot to credit her. I'm sorry!
> 
> Remember to follow my [fandom tumblr](http://jolieburnsinfandomhell.tumblr.com/) for updates, sneak peeks, and fanart! I've been doing a lot of fanart lately, as well as a [wing comparison chart](http://jolieburnsinfandomhell.tumblr.com/post/158544381047/hi-if-you-had-time-and-wouldnt-mind-could-you#notes) for Sans and Pap!
> 
> Please drop a review if you enjoy! They really help me keep writing, and only take a moment to leave! I mean, you're getting free entertainment here, you can't take 30 seconds out of your day to let me know if you liked it or not (bonus points if you let me know WHAT you liked about it, haha)? Come on, man.

"How long do you think he's gonna sleep?" Frisk asked as she and Sans both watched the slumbering archangel still sprawled out on the snow covered ground before them.

"dunno, but much longer and i'm leaving him here," Sans answered with a snort as he leaned back on his hands and yawned. It'd been a good fifteen minutes now, and Frisk had long since made herself comfortable on his lap after complaining of the cold. Most of the clearing's snow was now focused in its center thanks to Papyrus' final attack, but the ground itself was still frozen and uncomfortable.

The idea of just carrying his brother back to the house crossed the seraphim's mind, but was quickly discarded. While Sans was more than strong enough, his long limbed little brother was an awkward armful for someone as short of himself. He'd wind up dragging more of Papyrus than he carried.

Fortunately, before Sans had to start coming up with makeshift sled ideas, Papyrus sat bolt upright with a gasp and nearly knocked his observers over with the sweep of one large red wing in the process.

"Pap!" Frisk exclaimed as she threw her hands in the air and grinned, unbothered by (though still sputtering a little at) the faceful of feathers she received. "Are you alright?" the girl asked as she scrambled off Sans' lap and felt her way along the archangel's wing until she found his shoulder, whereupon she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight until their cheeks mashed together comically.

A wry smile played across Sans' face as he watched the display of affection, though internally he too heaved a sigh of relief. "told you he was just tired, kid," he said.

"Yeah, well...it's good to know for sure," Frisk replied, wrinkling her small nose in his direction as Papyrus' arm automatically went around her in return.

"TIRED," Papyrus mused as he gathered his long legs under him, and then pushed himself to his feet, bringing Frisk with him until he ended standing with her perched on his arm like a child a third her age. "BEING TIRED IS AWFUL. THIS IS WHY I NEVER SLEEP."

Frisk laughed and held on tight as she suddenly rose several feet up into the air, though she rested in Papyrus' grip without complaint. She was either so relieved he was unharmed by their fight that she was willing to let it slide, or tired enough herself that she wanted to be carried for a change regardless.

"that makes zero sense, bro," Sans huffed lightly as he too got to his feet and stretched.

Papyrus ignored him and looked around. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"you lost," his brother answered with a shit-eating grin.

"I won!" Frisk said at the same time, one small fist punching the air.

"WHAT?!" Papyrus demanded, doing a double take between the two of them. "HOW CAN THIS BE? I, THE GREAT ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS, NEVER LOSE!"

"you used so much magic you burned yourself out and fell asleep," Sans said, smile less teasing and more commiserative now. "you couldn't go on, but the kiddo was still on her feet, so.."

"I won!" Frisk repeated, grinning from ear to ear. The archangel might have become upset had her next words not brought him up short. "I won and no one had to get hurt!"

Papyrus' eyes went immediately down to his brother, who tilted his head slightly to one side and arched a brow. The look didn't dare the archangel to question the girl so much as ask him if he was willing to hurt her for the sake of 'winning'. Papyrus' face contorted and he shook his head fractionally, clearly unwilling to do so.

"TRULY YOU ARE A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH, SMALL HUMAN," Papyrus declared. "I ADMIT MY DEFEAT."

The exchange had been brief enough that the girl didn't notice the pause in the conversation, for which Sans was grateful. "Thanks, Papyrus," she said, then reached up and carefully held his head in place so she could lean in and land a kiss on his cheekbone. "You should just call me Frisk, though, since we're friends now."

For once, Papyrus was speechless, though true to form his elder brother broke out into laughter at the orange hued blush that flared across the archangel's boney features.

"O-OH. VERY WELL, FRISK," the angel said, then smiled and laughed himself when she gave him a fond pat on the shoulder.

When Sans' laughter kept up, though, the girl twisted, then bent over sideways, forcing Papyrus to use his other hand to keep her from slipping off his arm. With unerring accuracy, Frisk planted a kiss on the top of Sans' head, making him sputter in surprise. "Thank you too, Sans."

The seraphim pushed the girl back upright before she slipped off his brother's arm all together and said, "yeah yeah, alright. no need to get sappy." He was smiling, though, and Frisk could hear it in his voice.

"So what now?" she asked curiously as she looped one arm around Papyrus' shoulders (or one of his shoulders, rather. They were quite broad compared to her slender arms.)

The archangel look thoughtful, then said, "WELL, UNDYNE RUNS THE THIRD TRIAL, AND SHE LIVES IN WATERFALL. YOU'LL HAVE TO GO THERE NEXT."

"we'll go back to our place for now," Sans interrupted, making Papyrus and Frisk both look down at him in surprise. "you hungry, kid?" the seraphim asked as he offered the girl's walking stick back to up to her.

"Ugh, only _super hungry,_ " the child answered vehemently as she sagged dramatically back against Papyrus' shoulder. "Like, literally all of the hungry."

Sans grinned. "that's a lot of hungry," he mused, then started walking towards the bridge.

"How long are we gonna stay at your house?" Frisk asked. "What's it like? Oh! Does this mean we're having a _sleepover?_ " Her excitement only seemed to grow at this prospect and she bounced a little in Papyrus' grip. "Do you guys have movies? We could watch a movie and eat popcorn! And how about blankets? Last time I had a sleepover with my friends we made this _giant_ blanket fort that took up Lizzie's _entire_ living room!"

As Frisk rambled excitedly, the brothers shared a look. Sans' was all amusement accompanied by a grin, while Papyrus wore a puzzled frown. Finally, the girl in his arms was forced to stop for breath, affording him an opportunity to cut in and ask, " _WHAT_ IS A SLEEPOVER, AND WHY WOULD YOU NEED TO MAKE A TENT INSIDE OF A HOUSE?"

Sans chuckled when Frisk gave his younger brother an affronted look for his ignorance and decided to keep his mouth shut. They were on the bridge now, and judging by the fact that Papyrus was crossing without a second thought, whatever puzzle was built into the thing wasn't something that activated automatically. Curious, the seraphim craned his neck to look down into the depths of the gorge for some hint.

Sure enough, though he couldn't make out details, there was the telltale hint of steel amongst the rocks that made up the cliff face. His smile dropping a little, Sans made a mental note to come back later for a closer look. Judging by the unhappy look Papyrus leveled in the same direction as they crossed, though, the seraphim had a feeling his brother might dismantle the thing entirely before he even had a chance.

"I can't believe you don't know what a sleepover is!" Frisk exclaimed, drawing both angels' attention back to her as the hand she currently held her stick in went to her hip, nearly clipping San's in the head.

"WHY?"

"Because they're the most fun thing ever! Don't you have friends?" she asked in an offhand manner, making Sans flinch inwardly.

"OF COURSE I DO!" Papyrus immediately said. "SO MANY FRIENDS! I AM, AFTER ALL, THE GREAT AND POPULAR ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS!"

Frisk opened her mouth to retort, and Sans could practically hear her reply before she'd even had a chance to say it.

' _Then how come you've never had a sleepover?_ '

That was a question that would only lead to embarrassment for his brother, so before the girl could speak, he gripped her ankle lightly with one hand. The touch was enough to make Frisk pause and look down at him, head tilted to one side in silent question.

"what do you want for dinner?" the seraphim asked.

As Sans had predicted, the question was one that both of his companions gladly took hold of and ran with without so much as a second thought to the subject change.

"I WILL BE MAKING SPAGHETTI, OBVIOUSLY!" Papyrus declared, and Frisk grinned.

"I love spaghetti!" the girl chimed happily. "Grandma-" she began to say, then paused, her smile faltering. Both angels immediately noticed the change, and shared a concerned look. Before they could say anything, though, Frisk gave herself a shake and rallied, her smile only a little dimmer than it had been as she asked, "Can I help make it?"

"YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE SPAGHETTI?" Papyrus asked the little girl in his arms with some skepticism.

Frisk laughed. "Yeah! I mean, not like it's hard."

Sans turned his gaze pointedly away from his brother so the archangel wouldn't see how poorly he was masking a grin. He wanted so badly to shoot Papyrus a side-long glance, but a desire to keep the peace for the time being helped the seraphim reign in the urge.

Papyrus hummed thoughtfully, then answered, "VERY WELL, WE SHALL PUT YOUR SPAGHETTI KNOWLEDGE TO THE TEST!"

"Bring it on!" Frisk said and punched the air.

As they came closer to the village, the girl perked up noticeably on Papyrus' arm, head turning this way and that as she listened to the comings and goings of the angels that lived nearby. Both skeletons almost immediately became the subject of great interest to their peers, though none of them approached. A few did raise a hand in greeting to Papyrus, though, which the archangel returned in kind with his usual cheery grin and wave.

"You sure are popular, Pap," Frisk noted with a smile after the third greeting.

The archangel looked a little smug as he squared his shoulders and said "WELL OF COURSE. I _AM_ THE KEEPER OF THE SECOND TRIAL, AFTER ALL."

Though his brother didn't notice as he chattered idly with Frisk, Sans' smile turned a little wry. Oh yes, the angels of Snowdin were always very polite to his brother. He was an archangel, after all, and that brought one a certain amount of respect whoever the individual. None of them crossed the line into what the seraphim would consider friends, though. Friendly acquaintances, sure, but never friends; much to what he knew was his brother's great disappointment in some of his lower moments. More than once Sans had wondered if this was, perhaps, his own fault. A flightless angel who was also a walking reminder of the great sin they had all been forced to commit was someone most went out of their way to avoid.

They were never unkind, of course, but most were uncomfortable in the seraphim's company, which was why he had taken to spending so much of his time in the forest or with Toriel. The Fall hadn't been his fault, but it hadn't been theirs either, so his constant search for solace in solitude benefited everyone involved.

Well, except Papyrus, maybe. Sans had thought his absence from Snowdin would make the others angels more likely to approach and befriend his brother, but apparently not.

The surge of relief the seraphim experienced when their home came into view surprised Sans. He'd missed it more than he realized, and his smile returned full force as he followed Papyrus and Frisk inside once the archangel had let the girl down and unlocked the front door.

"WELCOME TO OUR HUMBLE ABODE!" Papyrus declared, flinging his arms wide even as he veiled his wings. He dropped them almost immediately though when Frisk took several steps inside. "TAKE OFF YOUR BOOTS YOU TINY HEATHEN! THIS FLOOR IS CARPETED!"

Frisk froze mid-stride, snow covered boots already staining the carpet dark beneath her. "Oh, sorry!" she said, then promptly sat down in the middle of the floor and dragged off her boots. When they were free, she wiggled her socked feet with a happy sigh, clearly relieved to be free of them.

Grumbling a little, Papyrus pulled off his own boots and dropped them on the mat by the door, then took the girl's from her and placed them next to his. The size difference was almost comical to Sans as he kicked his own off with a chuckle.

"relax, bro. not like this carpet isn't an eyesore anyways," Sans mused as he stepped forward and gave Frisk a hand up off the patterned teal and purple carpet.

Frisk laughed and got to her feet. "Can I get a tour so I know where everything is?" she asked.

"OF COURSE! I DECORATED THE HOUSE MYSELF, SO THERE IS NO ONE BETTER QUALIFIED THAN MYSELF TO DO SO!" Papyrus said, then took her hand when she held it out to him with a smile, her stick already in the other, ready to guide her around any furniture.

Seeing he was hardly needed for the moment, Sans said, "you kids have fun. i'm gonna hit the shower. try not to wreck the place til i get out."

"Oh good," Frisk said with a sly smile. "I didn't want to say anything, but you kinda-"

The seraphim rolled his eyes and tugged the girl's flower crown down over her eyes before she could complete the sentence. "if you could look in the mirror right now you wouldn't be talking trash, kid, lemme tell you."

Frisk stuck her tongue out at him as she straightened her crown once more, but the seraphim only laughed and made his way upstairs while Papyrus took the girl in hand and started the tour.

Forgoing a detour at his own room, Sans headed directly for the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Finally alone, the seraphim glanced around and blinked. Every surface, porcelain or otherwise, practically glittered under the row of lights set over the medicine cabinet. His brother must have been 'boredom cleaning' in his free time between working on puzzles again. This little habit of Papyrus' was the number one reason Sans had taken to locking his bedroom door. There had been one too many instances of coming home to find all of his things rearranged and 'put away' in places he couldn't find them again, and that had been that.

Still, there were worse habits for a roommate to have, Sans supposed.

The seraphim started the water, then stripped and climbed in, flinching a little at the sudden rush of warmth across bones that had gotten far too accustomed to the cold. After a moment, though, Sans adjusted to the temperature change and relaxed under the stream, head bowed as water coursed over his skull and down his spine to drip between his empty ribs. Scapulae long held taught in an almost aggressive slouch eased and shifted when Sans rolled his shoulders and straightened his back with a soft cacophony of pops and cracks as vertebrae were forcefully realigned. Doing so didn't technically add much to his overall height, but it did give the seraphim the appearance of being a few inches taller than he normally presented himself.

The effect was lost almost immediately when Sans dropped his shoulders back into their customary slump before he set to washing himself, though. A few more minutes were spent lingering in the warmth, mind comfortably blank in that unique way that only occurred while in the shower, when all Sans' senses were drowned out by the rushing water and sauna-like heat.

Eventually, though, the angel turned off the water and snagged his towel from the nearby rack, grateful that Papyrus' cleaning habits included a penchant for restocking all the towels Sans so rarely remembered to return to their place. Once he was dry, the seraphim glanced at the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor and decided he might as well find himself some clean ones since he'd gone through the trouble of showering. He might not sweat, but that didn't mean the forest he so frequently wandered didn't inevitably leave their mark on his clothing.

Sans gathered the lot up under one arm after wrapping his towel around his waist, then stepped out into the hall where he was immediately accosted by the sound of shouting from downstairs, and the heavy scent of smoke.

" _papyrus_!" he bellowed and dropped his bundle of clothes where he stood as dread kicked his reflexes into high gear. Without a second thought, the seraphim charged straight forward and vaulted the railing that overlooked the living room below and landed in a crouch with one hand firmly holding his towel in place at his hips. Sans sprang forward and slid to a stop in front of the entrance to the kitchen, out of which thick, gray smoke was billowing.

Bright, pinprick eyes quickly took in the scene before him, and Sans bit back a swear as the fire that had broken out on the stove roared higher than ever while Papyrus fanned it frantically with a towel and Frisk tried in vain to reach the sink.

A stream of Enochian rushed out of Sans like the roar of a surging tide as he waved one hand sharply before him, prompting water to pour out of the ceiling with the force of a tropical thunderstorm. A sharp cutting motion brought the sudden, torrential downpour to a stop and left every surface in the kitchen soaked, Papyrus and Frisk included.

"SANS, WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR? I HAD IT UNDER CONTROL!" Papyrus sputtered as he wiped the water from his face and grimaced down at the sodden lump his paper mache costume had been turned into. "MY BATTLE BODY!"

"yeah right," Sans scoffed as he entered the kitchen. "you're lucky that battle body of yours didn't catch fire," he pointed out sharply as he examined at the mess they had made. It looked as though Papyrus had been trying to cook the noodles in the box again, a la Undyne's preferred recipe. There was _another_ angel he'd be having _words_ with when he saw them again… "you alright, kid?" he asked Frisk, who was coughing and brushing her now soaked hair back out of her face.

"I _swear_ I didn't do it," the little girl said as she pulled her flower crown from her head and mopped at her soot stained face with a sleeve.

"hah, i know," Sans said with a huff. "this mess has papyrus written all over it," he added as he reached out and absently helped the girl push some of the hair that had plastered itself to her cheeks back behind her ears. "you guys almost wound up like that one italian chef..."

"WHAT ITALIAN CHEF?" Papyrus asked, brow furrowed.

"the one that _pasta_ way," Sans answered with a sly grin.

The archangel groaned and slapped his forehead with one boney palm while Frisk broke out in a fit of giggles. Sans grinned and straightened as he adjusted his towel while looking around at the mess of a kitchen. Well, so much for spaghetti.

"pap, you get changed and clean up this mess," Sans told his brother. "we'll go to grillby's for dinner."

Papyrus looked ready to mutiny at this turn of events. "BUT FRISK AND I WANTED TO MAKE PASTA."

Sans waved him off, "come on, bro, kid needs to eat, _i_ need to eat, and i wanna do it sometime tonight without getting deep fried."

The archangel still looked ready to argue for a minute, but after taking another look around the kitchen, was forced to acquiesce that his brother was right. "OH VERY WELL. WE WILL TRY PASTA AGAIN LATER, FRISK."

Frisk turned her face up towards Pap and grimaced a little as she said "Only if _I_ make the noodles!"

"FAIR ENOUGH," Papyrus agreed. "NOW GO TAKE A SHOWER, YOU ARE A MESS, AND YOU CAN'T GO TO GRILLBY'S IF YOU ARE A MESS."

"But I already had a shower!" Frisk objected as she held out her arms, sodden sweater dripping visibly.

Sans covered his mouth with a hand to muffle a snicker as Papyrus put his hands on his hips and bent at the waist to say, "NOT WITH SOAP YOU DIDN'T. NOW GO SHOWER OR YOU WILL SLEEP IN THE GARAGE." He pointed firmly out of the kitchen, and though Frisk couldn't see the gesture, she could guess what he was doing by the sound. She let her hands drop back to her side and sagged under his regard.

"Oh alright," she said with a sigh.

"come on, i'll show you how the shower works and find you something to wear until your stuff dries," Sans said kindly as he lead her out of the kitchen.

"GET YOURSELF SOME CLOTHES WHILE YOU'RE AT IT, SANS!"

"Oh my god, Sans, are you naked?!" Frisk exclaimed.

"i am _not!_ " the seraphim countered hotly. "i've got a towel!"

"THAT IS PRACTICALLY NAKED. IT IS NAKED ADJACENT."

"oh, i'm sorry," Sans snarked over Frisk's sudden fit of giggles, "i guess i should have just let you two roast while i got dressed rather than rescue you from a fiery death in a towel."

The human reached out and patted his shoulder, still grinning. "Oh alright, Sans, I guess when you put it that way..."

"A NAKED HERO IS BETTER THAN NO HERO AT ALL, I SUPPOSE," Papyrus conceded with a hint of slyness in his smile.

"i'm not naked!"

An hour later, all three of them were clean, dry, and thoroughly dressed as they walked down the road towards Grillby's. Papyrus had seen to not only cleaning the kitchen, but making sure that Frisk's sodden clothing had gone through the wash before ending up in the drier. Sans had found himself some track pants, a plain white t-shirt, and a slightly less ratty blue jacket to wear than what he had been, though dressing Frisk had given him a bit of a pause. Eventually he'd decked the girl out in a pair of his basketball shorts (with the waist taken in by a safety pin), and a navy colored hoodie he'd dug out of the back of his closet. Despite him being two inches taller than her, tops, the piece of clothing hung to nearly her knees. It was baggy on him, but broad as he was, the seraphim filled it out much better than the human. Still, Frisk didn't seem bothered, and both angels thought she looked rather adorable, so that was the end of that.

"So what's Grillby's?" the girl in question asked as they walked, her cane tapping out the path in front of her as she walked between the two brothers.

"A DEN OF GREASE AND HIGHLY FLAMMABLE BEVERAGES," Papyrus answered.

"a bar-and-grill kind of place," Sans corrected with a huff of amusement. "mostly burgers and fries. you'll like grillby, i think."

Frisk grinned at these two disparate answers. "What kind of angel is he?" she asked curiously.

Papyrus looked thoughtful and made a little humming noise as he thought, clearly unsure of the answer, so Sans answered in his stead. "he's one of the dominions."

"AND THE BAR _IS_ HIS DOMINION, SO IT WORKS OUT QUITE WELL ALL AROUND," Papyrus added brightly. Before he could add any more, though, the archangel glanced down at Frisk, brow furrowed as he asked, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

The girl jumped and guiltily snatched her hand back from Papyrus' flight pinions. Unlike Sans, the archangel kept his wings out at all times unless they were indoors, leaving them within easy reach of curious hands.

"Sorry," the girl said, blushing a little and looking awkward. "But they're so soft!"

"IT'S NOT POLITE TO TOUCH PEOPLE'S WINGS WITHOUT PERMISSION," Papyrus informed her, though did not sound upset, only warning for the child's own sake. "YOU'RE HUMAN, SO YOU WOULDN'T KNOW, BUT-"

Seeing the girl's blush only deepen as the archangel threatened to go into lecture mode on the ins-and-outs of angel etiquette, Sans unveiled his own wings and swept the good one forward to block Frisk from Papyrus' view with its luminous plumage. "here, kid, go to town," the seraphim said casually.

Frisk's head turned this way and that as she heard the familiar flutter of feathers and felt the warmth that radiated from his wing. Smiling, embarrassment forgotten, the girl reached up and out to run her fingers gently along his downy-soft feathers. Papyrus regarded Sans with some surprise, but his older brother paid him no mind.

It was strange enough to see Sans willfully unveil his wings these days, but to allow someone to actually lay hands on them was even stranger. An angel's wings were highly personal, and one generally only allowed their closest friends and family to touch them. Wing brushes and embraces among the hierarchy were signs of profound affection, and the sight of Sans wrapping his own protectively around Frisk brought Papyrus to a sudden realization. Since the archangel had first seen them together, Sans had been keeping the girl constantly on his right side; his uninjured side.

Watching the pair now, Papyrus wondered if his brother even realized he was doing it, or if the action was simply instinctual. Whatever the case was, the younger angel found himself even happier than he had been that Frisk had managed to 'beat' him in their battle. After so many decades, his brother was finally opening up to, and becoming close with, another person...something Papyrus hadn't been sure he'd ever see again after the tragedy that had befallen them two hundred years ago.

Now he just had to make sure that no one _else_ managed to take Frisk from Sans…

Papyrus frowned to himself, concerned for the first time about Frisk facing Undyne in the third trial. Twenty-four hours before he would have been rooting for his fellow archangel all the way, but now? Now the prospect only filled him with dread.

"hey bro, you comin' or what?"

The archangel jerked slightly as he realized he'd paused at the bottom of the steps leading up to Grillby's. Sans and Frisk stood on the top step, looking back at him with quizzical expressions on their faces. The seraphim's wings were veiled once more in anticipation of entering - though again, he kept Frisk positioned safely at his right hand.

"YES OF COURSE, I WAS JUST… THINKING OF A NEW PUZZLE," the archangel lied and hurried up the steps after him, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"take a day off, man, you've earned it," Sans told him with a smile as they pushed their way in through the door and paused briefly to get the lay of the bar.

Things weren't exactly jumping inside, but there were several other angels scattered about the place eating and drinking. One of the long tables had been taken up by the dog-like principalities, all of whom still wore their armor and spoke mostly amongst themselves. A hush fell briefly over them as the arrival of the newcomers was noted, though conversation quickly resumed, no doubt with a change of subject.

Sans ignored them, and the other looks they got, and ambled over to the only open booth. He slid into it and settled himself in one corner so he could keep an eye on the room, one leg kicked up on the upholstered seat. Papyrus followed his brother's lead and gently guided Frisk into the seat opposite the seraphim and allowed her to climb in before seating himself. Sans wasn't the only one who could protect the girl, he'd decided. Neither of them truly expected trouble from the other angels, but both felt better with Sans keeping his eye on the room and Papyrus' bulk between Frisk and anyone that might mean her harm.

The archangel looked almost defiant as he settled himself into his seat, making Sans' smile widen as he noted precisely what it was his brother was doing. He did not comment, though, simply gave Papyrus a small nod of recognition, then raised a hand fractionally and caught Grillby's eye.

The dominion took a moment to finish serving another angel seated at the bar, then made his way towards their booth. When he arrived, Frisk blinked and asked, "Did it just get _really_ warm in here, or is it just me?" She tugged absently at the neck of her borrowed hoody and turned first towards Papyrus, and then Sans, who was masking a grin with one hand.

"that's just grillby, kiddo. he's real _hot stuff_ around these parts."

"SANS," Papyrus groaned and dragged one hand down his long face. He glanced up at the restaurant owner and said, "I AM SORRY, GRILLBY. I CAN'T TAKE HIM ANYWHERE, I SWEAR."

"Nothing I haven't heard before," the other angel mused in a pleasantly rough, smoky voice that Frisk would swear had an odd, crackling undertone she couldn't put a finger on. The bartender had a face that only those who knew him well could read with any success, but Papyrus could pick out a uniquely wry twist to the flames that made up Grillby's features as he informed Sans, "Losing your step, Your Lordship? I'm quite certain you used that same joke last month."

A flash of annoyance briefly crossed the seraphim's features at the dominion's epithet, but it was gone just as quickly. "you wound me, grillb'z. c'mon, you know i don't recycle puns," Sans insisted as his grin returned and he folded his hands behind his head.

The fiery angel gave a noncommittal hum and pulled out his notepad to take their order. Before he could ask, though, Frisk piped up curiously, "What's the joke?" her head tilted to one side as she waited to be filled in.

Grillby frowned at the girl, then glanced between Papyrus and Sans as though to ask if she were being serious. The seraphim silently waved his hand in front of his own eyes, then made a cutting motion to indicate her blindness. As he did so, Papyrus explained, "DOMINION GRILLBY IS QUITE LITERALLY MADE OF FIRE."

Frisk's mouth dropped open into a little 'o' of surprise. "Seriously?" she asked. Her brow furrowed as she processed this fact. "How come he hasn't burned his bar down then? Is it magic?"

"Of a sort," Grillby explained patiently for the child, flames brightening in a way that generally indicated a smile. "I don't burn anything I don't want to."

"Even me?" Frisk asked and reached around Papyrus to offer her slender hand to Grillby, a bright, eager smile on her soft features.

Sans tensed automatically, though not so anyone would notice. The lights of his eyes shrank fractionally as he watched Grillby, though his worry was unfounded. He knew as much, and the seraphim tamped down on his paranoia as he watched the bartender reach out to accept Frisk's hand, which he shook in greeting. There was no reason any one of the angels in here should want to get their hands on the human girl, Sans reminded himself firmly. No angel would dare lay hands on a trial goer; it wasn't just against the rules, it went against their own self interest if any of them hoped to ever escape the Underground…

"Wow, you're so hot!" Frisk exclaimed as she shook Grillby's hand. "But like… in a good way, especially since it's so cold outside," she added cheerfully. "I'm Frisk!"

"A pleasure," the angel said over Sans' sudden bout of immature snickering after a moment's pause. If his flames maybe burned a little brighter at her words, no one commented further on the matter. "Now, what can I get you?"

"cheeseburgers and fries all around, i think, grillb'z," Sans said as he relaxed back into his corner once more.

"Anything to drink?" the bartender asked as he made note of the order on his pad.

"usual for me," the seraphim said, then glanced at Papyrus in silent question.

"WATER, PLEASE," the taller skeleton answered primly.

Sans blew a loud raspberry at this, making Frisk giggle and push lightly on the archangel's shoulder.

"GROSS," Papyrus said with a sniff, but relented and said, "VERY WELL, CHOCOLATE MILK, PLEASE."

"Oh, me too!" Frisk said, bouncing excitedly in her seat at the prospect. Across from her, Sans rolled his eyes at the pair, but the smile he aimed their way was an indulgent one.

"Alright, it'll be out in a minute," Grillby said as he flipped his pad shut and then walked back across the bar, pausing at a few tables along the way to check on other customers.

Frisk tilted her head to one side and listened as the other angel left for a moment before turning her attention back to her companions. "What else do they serve here?" she asked curiously as she played absently with a coaster, spinning it like an oversized coin.

"just burgers and fries," Sans answered as he watched her catch the coaster when it toppled and then spin it again.

"IT'S ALL HE KNOWS HOW TO MAKE," Papyrus added with a light snort of amusement as he relaxed back into the booth, long arms crossed over the bony expanse of his chest. Beneath the table he stretched out his legs as far as they'd go, then crossed them neatly at the ankle.

This made the human at his side laugh. "Seriously?"

"WELL, I DON'T ACTUALLY _KNOW,_ " the archangel admitted. "BUT IT _IS_ THE ONLY KIND OF FOOD HE'S EVER SERVED SINCE HE FIRST STARTED SOME TIME AGO."

"never really thought to ask, myself," Sans said with a careless shrug. "they're good, so i'm not gonna complain."

A wistful expression crossed the human's face and she said, "I wish we served burgers and fries at the cafe. Then I could eat them every day!"

Papyrus grimaced at the thought of eating cheeseburgers on a daily basis. "THAT WOULD BE AWFUL. YOU'D GET SICK OF THEM IN ANY CASE."

"No way!" Frisk countered, scrunching her nose at the very concept.

Sans let them go back and forth on this matter for a minute before finally cutting in and changing the subject, "your family owns a cafe, kid?"

The little girl's face practically lit up at his question, making both angels blink. "Yeah!" she said, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I guess it's been in my family for ages, we've always owned it," the girl explained. "My mom and dad used to run it, but..." Frisk faltered here, though quickly pushed on. "But they, um- they died when I was a baby so grandma un-retired and came back to run it _and_ raise me."

Her words had picked up pace as she spoke, fingers fiddling with her coaster, carefully shredding it into little pieces rather than spinning it now.

"I don't really remember my parents at all," Frisk admitted as Sans and Papyrus shared a worried look that she could not see, but could probably sense. "Grandma always took care of me _and_ the cafe, even though she was super old. Everyone at the cafe used to joke that she was like the energizer bunny cuz she just keeps going," the girl said, smile brittle now, voice tight, her companions unable to do anything but listen.

The pieces of the coaster became smaller yet.

"I got sick when I was five and when I got better...I couldn't see anymore. Grandma...Even though I was so upset and scared, Grandma was always there for me. Even when I got mad and broke my first cane over the back of her favorite rocking chair, she let me and told me it was okay to get mad, just as long as tomorrow I picked myself up and kept going."

Big, fat tears rolled down the girl's cheeks, and Sans regretted ever asking about the cafe, though there was no way he could have possibly known what large emotions it would unleash from within her frail little body.

"frisk," the seraphim said, voice low and soothing as he sat up and leaned across the table towards her. "frisk-"

"I just-" the girl began, her voice going up an octave in her distress as she wiped furiously at her cheeks with the cuffs of her borrowed hoodie. The tears kept coming, though, so she resorted to simply pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes as though that might stifle the flow at the source. " _I just really miss my grandma,_ " she sobbed.

Sans was three seconds from climbing right over the table to comfort her, but to his surprise Papyrus beat him to it. So instead, he murmured a few quiet words of enochian that wrapped their booth in a bubble that would keep their conversation from being overheard by the rest of the room.

The space was far too confining for Papyrus to unveil his wings, so the archangel turned and angled himself so his back was to the rest of the room, affording the girl some privacy before he reached out and enveloped her in a hug with his long, thin arms. The skeleton pulled her in against his chest and the girl buried her face in the soft wool of his sweater, taking deep, heaving breaths to keep from sobbing in the middle of the bar.

"IT'LL BE ALRIGHT, FRISK. YOU'LL SEE YOUR GRANDMA AGAIN SOON."

"N-no I won't," the girl choked out miserably, clutching desperately at his shirt, shoulders shaking.

"pap's right, kiddo," Sans joined in desperately, heart aching with empathy for her distress. How long had he raged and wept at his own loss after the fall? He would likely never escape the Underground, but there was still a chance Frisk might. "you can do this, you'll get out and-"

"My grandma died! She died last week!" Frisk raged, tears pouring down her face unchecked now.

Papyrus and Sans both went still at this information, and shared a look over the girl's head. The archangel's eyes begged for guidance, but for once, his older brother was just as lost as him. Sans shrugged helplessly and gestured for him to comfort her as best he could while wishing there was room for him to squeeze in next to Frisk as well. The booth was too narrow, though, leaving the seraphim to watch Papyrus do his best with the girl. Sans shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fighting an instinctual urge to unveil his wings so he could wrap the child up in them in an attempt to shield her from the world and all its many travesties.

Papyrus couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound trite, so instead he alternated between rubbing Frisk's back and stroking her soft, dark hair in an attempt to soothe. It seemed to do the trick, as the human's crying gradually died down until she only sniffled occasionally.

Seeing the worst was past, Sans wordlessly passed Frisk several paper napkins, which she took and used to clean herself up a little once Papyrus had loosened his grip on her. He kept one arm around her shoulders, though, and when she was done, allowed her to lean into his side. The archangel was beginning to understand his older brother's curious compulsion to protect this human child. Somehow, her normal determinedly cheery disposition made her moments of weakness all the more heart breaking.

Grillby returned then, though neither angel noticed his initial approach. Frisk did, though, so she dragged her hood up over her head and tugged the drawstrings so taut that it closed her hood up until only her mouth and tear-reddened nose were visible. Before either of her companions could comment, the bartender arrived with three plates expertly balanced on one arm, and three glasses held lightly between the fingers of the other.

Not for the first time, Sans wondered how the dominion managed these acrobatic feats, though this time he made no comment on it, too distracted by Frisk's distress. Food and drinks were distributed across the table appropriately, but even the smell of burgers and fries were not enough to draw Frisk out of her hoodie.

"I took the liberty of upgrading the young lady's chocolate milk into a milkshake," Grillby said kindly as he pushed the tall, whip cream topped drink towards the girl. She perked up a little at his words, and loosened her hold on her drawstrings some.

"thanks, grillby," Sans said with a smile for the fiery angel. He dropped his chin onto the heel of his palm and the smile became a grin as he added, "that's real _cool_ of you."

Grillby pointedly ignored the seraphim while Papyrus groaned. Frisk, however, managed to laugh, which was enough for Sans. His grin widened, and he took one of the straws the bartender had left for them on the table, partially peeled back it's paper wrapping, then put it to his mouth and blew. The paper shot off the end of the straw and nailed the girl right in the nose, making Sans laugh, and Frisk gasp and giggle before feeling around for a straw of her own.

"Anything else?" Grillby asked while the human did her best to replicate what Sans had done, only to fail when the paper end of the wrapper blew out rather than shooting off the straw, making the seraphim snicker.

"A SIDE ORDER OF TABLE MANNERS, MAYBE?" Papyrus asked hopefully.

The dominion smiled in his subtle way, flames flickering a little higher with amusement. "Sorry, I'm afraid we're fresh out."

The archangel sighed dramatically, "I THOUGHT AS MUCH."

"quit your whining, pap, you love us," Sans said.

Papyrus took one of the spare straws and successfully shot the wrapper off its end, striking his brother right between the eyes and making him blink furtively at the impact.

"I'll be at the bar if you need anything else," Grillby remarked, amused as he watched Frisk tug at Papyrus' sleeve, begging him to teach her how after hearing his successful counter attack.

Sans nodded and watched him go for a moment. When he turned back to his companions, a second straw wrapper hit him just under the left eye socket, making him start.

"alright, alright, come on man," he groused half-heartedly as Frisk giggled and high-fived Papyrus, who was grinning. "how about you try using one of these in a drink," the seraphim mused as he took one of the denuded straws and stuck it into the girl's milkshake, then took another and put it in his own.

"You started it," the human pointed out.

Sans pointedly ignored this statement and took a sip of his drink before starting in on his fries. His 'usual' was a bloody mary without the vodka, and Grillby always did mix them up just right. Despite being a bar and grill, the dominion actually served very little in the way of alcohol thanks to the fact that it was nigh impossible for an angel to become inebriated anyways. Something Sans had rued more than once over the decades, and he suspected he wasn't the only one. Mankind hadn't just perfected the art of sleep; they were masters of self-medication, and the seraphim couldn't help but be a little envious.

Papyrus snickered a little into his chocolate milk, but Sans ignored that too. "how's the milkshake, kid?"

Frisk had loosed all hold on the drawstrings of the sweatshirt he had loaned her, and smiled at him from under the hood. "Really good," she replied happily.

"IT DOES MAKE ONE WONDER HOW SOMEONE MADE OF FIRE MANAGES TO MAKE FROZEN BEVERAGES, HOWEVER."

"magic, i assume," Sans mused with a mystical wave of his hand before turning his attention to his burger.

Papyrus hummed thoughtfully, seemingly mulling over the idea of an angel made completely of fire making use of ice magic as he ate.

All three fell into a companionable silence as they dug in, each hungrier than they had realized on entering the restaurant. It didn't hurt that, while Grillby's cooking repertoire was rather limited, what he _could_ make was extremely good. The only sound between them for some minutes was chewing, and the gentle 'thump-thump' of Frisk's heels hitting the base of the booth as she swung her legs absently while eating.

Even distracted as he was by his food, though, Sans could sense the girl's mood shift once she'd polished off her burger and began picking at her fries. Her brief detour into cheerfulness was pulling back into an awkward sort of solemnity. He didn't say anything, though, but let her come to it on her own.

"Sorry I got upset," she said in a meek voice, shoulders up around her ears as she finally broke the silence, unable to take it any longer.

Papyrus turned to look at her, blinking a little at this non sequitur. He glanced briefly at his brother, then said, "IT'S ALRIGHT, FRISK. YOU HAVE GONE THROUGH A LOT, IT IS PERFECTLY NORMAL TO BE UPSET. I DO NOT EVEN MIND THAT YOU GOT MY SHIRT WET."

Frisk winced at this reminder of her breakdown. "Sorry," she repeated unhappily as she pushed a french fry around her plate.

"don't worry about it, kid," Sans said in an offhand tone, hoping to set her at ease. "we've all lost our share of loved ones down here. we know how it feels."

The girl's brow furrowed and she cocked her head to one side in a manner the seraphim knew preluded a particularly penetrating question. "I thought _all_ the angels were sent to the Underground, though?"

Sans sipped absently at his virgin bloody mary to cover his lack of immediate answer, and lucked out when Papyrus decided to answer first. "ONLY THOSE ANGELS ON EARTH WERE BANISHED TO THE UNDERGROUND. THE REST OF THEM...US, REMAIN IN HEAVEN."

Frisk's head tilted the other direction now, her food temporarily forgotten. "Then how come I've never heard of any angels on the surface? And couldn't the angels in Heaven come help you or...or something?"

Now Papyrus looked at Sans, and the seraphim returned him a sharp, forbidding look that made the taller skeleton consider his next words carefully before continuing. "THE ANGELS IN HEAVEN CANNOT GO TO EARTH BECAUSE THE GATE HAS BEEN CLOSED. IT CAN ONLY REMAIN OPEN SO LONG AS ITS GUARDIAN MAINTAINS THE CONNECTION AT THE HOLY GROUND OF MOUNT EBOTT." Papyrus looked at his brother again, but Sans' attention was occupied by his food now, apparently leaving him unable to spare a glance for the archangel as he endeavored to scoop as much ketchup as was angelically possible onto one slice of potato. Giving up, Papyrus finished, "THE GUARDIAN WAS, BY NECESSITY OF DUTY, ON EARTH WHEN WE WERE BANISHED, SO THEY TOO WOUND UP IN THE UNDERGROUND, RESULTING IN THE CLOSING OF THE GATE BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH."

"Oh," the little girl said with a frown as she mulled this information over, heels tapping lightly against the base of the booth again in a soft tattoo not unlike a heartbeat. "So if your family wasn't on the surface with you when you were banished… they're stuck up in Heaven?"

"got it in one," Sans said, tone droll as he stuck another ketchup drenched fry in his mouth, making his brother grimace in disgust.

Frisk sighed and ate a fry of her own. She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before brightening a little and suggesting, "Hey, if your family, and my family are all in Heaven without us, maybe they're waiting for us together?"

Sans smiled at the thought, and waved Papyrus back into silence when his younger brother went to shoot down the idea with insight into the afterlife no living mortal was meant to have. "it's a nice idea, kid," the seraphim said with a low chuckle. "i hope it's true."

Papyrus frowned at him, but Sans ignored it, deciding that the smile on Frisk's face, and her general comfort were well worth the deception. The truth was, living angels could not follow the dead into the afterlife without dying themselves. Still, he could tell that the idea of their families both waiting for them in the beyond gave the girl some respite from her troubles, so he let it be. No doubt he'd hear about it from his brother later, but that was future Sans' problem. Present Sans was just glad the girl was smiling again.

Frisk sipped happily at her milkshake once she'd finished off her burger, then experimented with dipping her fries in the chocolatey concoction, much to Papyrus' disgust. Sans quite liked it, though, and the human was generous enough to share with him as they chatted about lighter subjects for a time.

Eventually, though, the conversation turned again when Frisk asked, "How long have I been down here?"

Papyrus canted his head to one side and thought for a moment before answering. "WELL, TIME IS DIFFICULT IN THE UNDERGROUND. YOU HAVE BEEN WITH US FOR TWO AND A HALF SURFACE DAYS, I BELIEVE. HOW LONG YOU WERE IN THE RUINS, I DO NOT KNOW."

"Seriously?!" the little girl exclaimed, turning from Papyrus to Sans, as though hoping he might give her a different answer.

"don't ask me, kid," the seraphim said with a snort. "i have trouble keeping track of weeks, let alone days. if pap says it's so, though, it is." He arched a brow at her and asked, "what, got somewhere to be?"

Frisk sighed and sagged back into the booth again. Both skeletons watched her closely, worried that she might be on the verge of serious emotional distress again. Luckily, that didn't appear to be the case, so they relaxed.

"I mean, _kind of,_ " the human said. "Since..." she swallowed tightly here, but pushed on quickly, "since grandma died, I've been staying with my friend Lizzie's family until the dumb lawyers decide where I'm supposed to go. They're probably worried, or think I've been kidnapped or something."

After a moment's consideration, Papyrus asked, "WHAT IS A LAWYER?"

"a kind of vulture," Sans answered offhandedly as he sipped his drink.

Frisk nearly snorted her milkshake. "What? No they're not! They're people that decide what's legal...or something."

"right. vulture people," the seraphim said with an impish grin. The human huffed and threw a french fry in the direction of his voice, but he caught it easily and proceeded to drench it in ketchup before eating it. Deciding to risk more tears, Sans asked, "your grandma didn't have a will or something?"

"She does," Frisk replied, her frown thoughtful more than distressed. "Mr. Brighton, her lawyer, said that grandma left everything in a-" she hesitated a moment, frown deepening in thought as she struggled for the words. "Trust? Trust fund? Something like that. The cafe, her money, the house we lived in...everything."

"THEN WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?" Papyrus asked. "IT SOUNDS LIKE SHE PLANNED EVERYTHING. PERHAPS YOU NEED TO HIRE NEW VULTURES? THE ONES YOU HAVE DO NOT SOUND VERY GOOD AT THEIR JOBS."

Frisk wrinkled her nose. "It's not all that stuff that's the problem, it's the clause about who I'm to live with if something happened to her. They won't tell me what it is, they're too busy arguing with each other to bother with what I want," she groused unhappily.

"can't you decide that for yourself?" Sans asked, foggy on custody cases and human law in general. Then again, the girl was only ten years old...that was probably too young for her to be making such an important decision in the eyes of the law.

Frisk blinked reflexively at this idea. "I...don't think that's allowed," she replied eventually.

"I DON'T SEE WHY NOT," Papyrus commented as he picked absently at his fries. He'd only had a few, and didn't seem to notice that Sans had already pilfered several of them while his attention was diverted by the conversation. "IT IS AN IMPORTANT DECISION, YOU SHOULD HAVE SOME SAY, SURELY?"

The little girl nodded, clearly not having considered this. She sighed after a moment, though, and said, "Yeah, but I doubt Mr. Brighton would see it that way."

"sounds like mr. brighton needs a-" Sans began with a vicious sort of grin that boded ill for anyone on the receiving end.

"SANS," Papyrus cut in sharply before the seraphim could finish.

The shorter skeleton glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. "-nap," he finished lamely.

Frisk laughed a little, heels kicking against the base of the booth again. "Probably," she agreed. "He always sounds super tired, and he speed walks everywhere."

"I THOUGHT VULTURES COULD FLY?"

Sans snickered into his virgin bloody mary, and Frisk scoffed, though quickly devolved into giggles.

"WHAT?"

XXXX

The mood on the way back home was pleasant, and once again ruled by an odd sense of _rightness_ as they walked together down the snowy street. Sans carried Frisk's staff in his right hand while the girl clung to his left, and Papyrus' right. They'd experimented with swinging the child between them a few times, but the attempt had nearly wound up with all three of them face down in the snow when the height difference between the two brothers nearly proved their undoing.

Now Frisk was humming to herself and kicking absently at the snow with her boots, her arms swinging widely, dragging theirs along for the ride. The sound of a dog barking brought her up sharp, though, and she turned this way and that in hopes of figuring out where it was coming from.

"Is that a _dog_?!" she asked excitedly, skinny body practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect.

"OH NO," Papyrus said with a heavy sigh as the barking repeated, closer this time.

"oh yes," Sans mused as he turned and spotted the nemesis of skeletons everywhere:

The Annoying Dog.

As the white fluffball bounded over excitedly, barking all the while, Papyrus eyed it warily, and actually went so far as to release Frisk's hand and jump back out of easy reach when it skidded to a stop before them. Even Sans watched it closely. It wouldn't be the first time the furry monster had tried to lay teeth on either him _or_ his brother.

There was never any malice behind it, so far as he could tell, but it was in the creature's nature to chew on bones, and the fact that he and Papyrus were basically walking, talking doggie chew toys had endeared them to the Annoying Dog more than anyone else.

Too bad the affection didn't exactly go both ways.

For possibly the first time, though, the dog completely ignored both angels in favor of throwing itself bodily at Frisk, who had dropped to her knees in the snow and responded by throwing her arms around the creature's neck to pet it vigorously.

"Doggy!" she exclaimed in that particular gooey voice that dog lovers everywhere reserve only for the best of four legged creatures on the creator's green earth. "Oh who's a good dog! _You're_ a good dog!" she cooed happily as the Annoying Dog panted, tongue lolling from behind sharp white teeth while her small hands scratched its ears until it flopped over to one side and rolled to expose its belly with the happy huffing grumble of a dog well pleased.

Papyrus stood by watching this display of affection with gape-mouthed shock and disbelief, as though the little human had tamed a lion rather than a dog that barely reached his knee.

"well hell," Sans murmured, mostly to himself as he watched Frisk attack the fell creature's fuzzy white belly to its tail wagging delight. A low chuckle escaped him at the sight the pair made. He didn't think he'd seen two creatures so delighted to meet one another in his entire life.

"SANS, WHAT IS HAPPENING? WHY IS THE ANNOYING DOG DOING THAT? WHY IS IT NOT BEING...BITEY. IT IS _ALWAYS_ BITEY."

"Aw, he wouldn't bite! Would you boy? Who's a good booooy," the girl said and buried her face in the dog's neck as it wiggled happily in the snow. She sat up, then, and cast a disparaging look in the archangel's direction. "And that's not a nice thing to call him! It's not annoying at all! What's its real name?"

Still smiling, Sans tilted his head and stroked his chin absently as he thought. "dunno," he admitted eventually. "everyone just calls it the annoying dog, so that's its name i guess. it's what it responds to generally, anyways."

"That's so mean!" Frisk declared as the dog sat up and proceeded to wash her face with it's tongue, making her giggle.

"FRISK DON'T LAUGH, IT'S TRYING TO EAT YOU FOR GOODNESS SAKE," Papyrus said as he reached out to pull her away from the objectionable creature, only for it to snap and latch onto one of his long fingers with its bright, white teeth.

The archangel's entire frame went rigid at the contact, but before he could so much as yelp, Frisk tapped the dog lightly on the nose and frowned at it. "No bite!" she said in a firm tone.

To Sans and Papyrus' surprise, the Annoying Dog released Papyrus immediately and whined, pert furry ears flattened against its skull.

Realizing her command had been obeyed, Frisk broke out into a sunny smile once more, like the clouds clearing on a warm summer's day. "There's a good dog!" she said again, and the dog's ears perked right up again in response.

Papyrus remained frozen for a long moment after he'd been released, as though in shock. Sans sidled up to him, eyes still riveted on girl and dog as he asked, "ok there, bro?"

His voice seemed to wake the archangel from his stupor, and Papyrus gave himself a shake before straightening and saying in a near whisper, "SANS, HOW DID SHE DO THAT? ARE WE CERTAIN FRISK IS HUMAN."

The seraphim laughed long and loud at that, making Frisk turn his way with a quizzical tilt of her head that the Annoying Dog mimicked. This only served to make the seraphim laugh harder.

Papyrus just sniffed haughtily. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO LAUGH, SANS. _I_ THINK IT IS A PERFECTLY REASONABLE QUESTION GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES."

"kid, is there _anyone_ you can't make friends with?" the seraphim asked when he'd finally gotten himself under control again.

Frisk looked thoughtful for a moment. "I dunno," she said. "I mean, people I don't like, I guess? There's this one girl in the grade above me who tried to make fun of me for being blind one time. I don't like _her._ "

"oh?" Sans mused curiously. "and what'd you do about that?"

"tripped her with my cane," the child answered smugly with a look that dared him to get mad at her about it.

Instead, a bark of laughter escaped a shorter skeleton, and he had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle more. "by accident, i'm sure," he said.

"Oh sure," she replied with a broad grin.

Meanwhile, Papyrus seemed torn between amusement, and his own conscience, which had always been more forward that his brother's and told him that tripping little girls, even out of vengeance, probably wasn't the right thing to do. On the other hand, making fun of blind children definitely wasn't either...

Eventually, he gave up on the moral quandary and suggested, "WE SHOULD GET HOME."

"But whose dog is this?" Frisk asked with a frown as she pushed herself back to her feet and dusted the snow from her knees. The Annoying Dog scampered around her, barking happily at the prospect of going somewhere apparently. The dog reached Frisk's waist, and came a hair's breadth from knocking into her more than once. Sans kept an eye on it, fearing it would do just that, but it seemed surprisingly aware of the child's comparative frailty for something that had presumably spent its entire life in the company of angels.

"it's kind of a free agent. It doesn't _belong_ to anyone." Sans told the girl and shrugged; and it was true. The Annoying Dog had just sort of...shown up one day, though the seraphim couldn't recall just how long ago that had been now. How long did dogs even live? He hadn't had much in the way of experience with them back on the surface, so he had nothing to go by.

Frisk seemed horrified by this fact. "What?" she demanded as her hand went out and the Annoying Dog pressed its head up into her palm in answer. "But who feeds it?"

Sans and Papyrus shared a hesitant look, as though loathe to admit the truth.

"we do, generally," the seraphim admitted.

The human's eyes widened in surprise, then her brow furrowed as she tilted her head to one side, confused. "But I thought you guys didn't like Dog?" she said, having apparently decided that 'Annoying Dog' was too long a name for common usage.

Another shared, uncomfortable look.

"well, i mean...it just kept coming 'round and trying to chew on us, so we figured maybe if we gave it proper food it'd stop."

"MOSTLY IT DID," Papyrus added, though he shot the dog an ugly look after re-examining the finger Dog had bitten.

"Oh, well, where does it sleep then?" This question was mostly addressed to the dog itself, not expecting the angels to know the answer, only to be surprised when they did.

"IN OUR GARAGE, GENERALLY," Papyrus said.

"or under the kitchen sink," Sans interjected, amused. "nearly got me a couple of weeks ago when i went under there lookin' for paper towels."

Papyrus looked at his brother like he'd gone crazy. "WHY WOULD THE PAPER TOWELS BE UNDER THE SINK, SANS."

"why wouldn't they be?"

"THEY MIGHT GET WET!"

"what? is the sink leaking again?" Sans asked, brow furrowed. "why-"

"Wait!" Frisk interjected, making the two brothers look at her with some surprise.

"WHAT?"

"what?"

Had she been able to see them, Frisk would have stared. As it was, she opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again as her brow furrowed in consternation. Eventually, a tentative smile overtook her features as she asked, "But...but if you feed the dog, and it lives with you...doesn't that make it _your_ dog?"

"does it?" Sans asked with some surprise. Dog ownership was never something he'd ever really considered before, and the fact that he might have done so for so long already came as a shock.

"SURELY NOT. THERE MUST BE MORE TO IT THAN THAT," Papyrus said.

"I mean...grandma wouldn't let me get a dog because she was allergic, but...I'm pretty sure that's all it _really_ takes." Frisk said, though she sounded uncertain. Beside her, the Annoying Dog gave a snort that sounded distinctly skeptical.

"same," Sans told the dog, and it snorted again, making the seraphim break out into a smile again.

XXXX

In the end, it was decided that the Annoying Dog would accompany them home, since it pretty much lived there anyways. It was probably for the best, as it saved Sans the attempt at telling Frisk no when he had no doubt she'd have had her way with embarrassingly little resistance on his part anyways.

The little girl was yawning broadly by the time they got back to the house and had divested themselves of their shoes per Papyrus' strict requirements. Even Dog had to have his feet wiped clean on an old dish towel before he was allowed on the carpet. To both angels' surprise, the furry creature allowed Frisk to do this with minimal fuss before darting off to re-familiarize itself with the terrain.

"Blanket fort time?" Frisk asked with a hopeful grin aimed at both skeletons though, it was quickly overtaken by a jaw cracking yawn.

Sans chuckled. "as long as you don't think you'll fall asleep halfway through construction," he remarked. "that's a hazard on a construction site, you know. someone might get crushed by an errant pillow."

"WE'LL NEED A LOT OF BLANKETS IF WE'RE ALL GOING TO FIT," Papyrus pointed out, one gloved finger tapping his jaw absently as he thought. "DO WE EVEN _HAVE_ THAT MANY?"

"i'll go see what i can dig up," the seraphim replied, and Frisk cheered before proceeding to climb Papyrus like a tree without any particular complaint on his part.

There was already one small throw blanket on the back of the sofa which Sans left and headed upstairs to raid the hall closet for any spares they might have, though he wasn't actually sure that they _did_ have any. They weren't about to use his blanket, after all. If he brought it out of his room at all, Papyrus would probably try to take it and _wash_ it or something similarly awful.

Getting it wadded up with his sheets the way it was had taken him months, and it was just right, thanks very much.

The seraphim only dug one blanket up out of the closet, but he did find several sets of sheets, so he decided those would do well enough. The whole point was just to make a tent after all, right? No doubt Frisk had opinions on this matter, but she'd just have to make do.

Satisfied, Sans made his way back to the stairs and started down them. Glancing around his armful to make sure he wasn't about to take an undignified head first tumble down the steps, the skeleton said, "well, not a lot of blankets to be had, but-"

Halfway down, he looked up and saw Papyrus face down on the floor, wings akimbo, and Frisk crouching over his prone figure.

Something within Sans went very still in that moment, like the quiet before a terrible storm. He froze mid-step as the lights of his eyes snuffed out and his heart stopped beating, the breath wooshing out of him as though he'd been punched in the gut.

He'd made a terrible mistake.

How had she done it? How had he not seen this coming? She was human, and _every_ human, no matter how kind, was inevitably corrupted in the Underground. His carelessness and isolation had allowed her in under his guard, and now Papyrus had paid the ultimate price.

The air around Sans became as heavy as it was still, though the little girl in his living room had yet to notice. Instead, she reached out and trailed the slight fingers of one hand along the crimson expanse of Papyrus' open wing, neatening a few errant feathers. The sight made the seraphim grit his teeth as hate bloomed painfully in his chest like a sharp petaled flower of glass whose roots shot down deep into the marrow of his bones and-

A loud, rattling snore cut through the quiet like a chainsaw, startling Sans from his fury and making Frisk muffle a giggle with her free hand.

The seraphim must have made some sound at this sure sign of life from his brother, as the human turned towards him. She grinned and made a shushing motion before loudly whispering, "He fell asleep again!"

Asleep. Papyrus was sleeping face down on the floor.

Sans began to breathe again and the relief this revelation brought him nearly forced him to take a seat on the stairs. Sheer force of will made him lock his knees and remain upright as he scrambled mentally for his equilibrium.

He must have taken a beat too long, as Frisk's smile dropped away and she tilted her head to one side in question, brow furrowed. "Sans?"

He'd been so ready to believe she had done his brother harm even after seeing the child risk her life and freedom to avoid doing just that only a few hours before. Feeling every bit the piece of shit he'd long suspected himself of being, Sans forced a smile and started back down the stairs once more, guilt and horror at what he'd been contemplating doing to the little girl worrying over him dragging at his very soul.

"pap sleeping twice in one day," he mused in a light tone as he tossed the pile of sheets and single blanket on the sofa and crouched beside Frisk. "must be a sign of the end times."

Frisk's concerned expression melted away in the face of his levity and she smiled once more. "He was trying to preen his wings by himself and I asked if I could help," the girl explained as she sat back on her heels. "He had to lay down so I could reach the back and after I started, he just..." here she gestured at the sleeping archangel with one hand, and muffled a jaw cracking yawn with another.

Sans eyed the girl sidelong and asked in an innocent tone, "gettin' tired there, kiddo?"

"No," Frisk lied unconvincingly. "We've got to make a fort!"

The seraphim gave the girl a canny look he was glad she couldn't see, then suggested, "alright, but we're gonna need a reference for how big it needs to be. you get up on the couch and i'll start building."

The little girl grinned, her friend's deception going right over her head, and said, "Oh, good idea!" then did as he said.

When she had laid out on the couch, dwarfed by the massive piece of furniture's vast green cushions, Sans gathered up the spare pillows she and Papyrus had already gathered, as well as the sheets and blankets. He dropped them on the floor, then took up the blanket he'd brought from the upstairs closet and tossed it over her. "here, hold this for me, will you?"

"Mmkay," Frisk said, pushing down part of the blanket so it didn't cover her face while Sans set about stacking up a few pillows as a prop for the sheet he then spread over the top of the sofa.

"how we doin' under there?" he asked after a few minute's work as the Annoying Dog finally returned from making its rounds to get underfoot. Sans tried to shoo it away, but it simply pushed past him and crawled up into the one man (or girl, rather) fort with Frisk to insert itself between her and the edge of the sofa. When the girl gave no answer, the seraphim hazarded a peek and grinned smugly when he noted that his clever ploy had work. Once he'd gotten her to lay down someplace warm, sleep was inevitable considering how tired he knew she had to be.

Worked for him, after all. Well...usually.

The Annoying Dog eyed him for a moment, then huffed a little and seemed content to drift off itself, not even twitching when the girl at its side slung an arm over its back in her sleep.

Guilt for his thoughts on the stairs came back to plague Sans as he watched the girl a moment longer, the gentle rise and fall of her chest the only movement she made. Smile gone, the seraphim reached in and gently slipped the crown of golden flowers from her head, then withdrew from the fort.

Despite the two other people (and one dog) in the room with him, Sans hadn't felt quite so alone in a very long time. He examined the little crown and its cunning craftsmanship as he allowed his fingertips to graze lightly over the all too familiar golden petals. Their sweet, heady scent filled his nose and the seraphim could feel the tide of memories rise within him, threatening to sweep him away into days long past.

Sans exhaled sharply and placed the crown on the side table before he could be tempted by thoughts of the person so tightly linked in memory with the golden flowers that had once grown in the meadows of Mt Ebott, particularly around the temple in which he'd once resided. Those meadows would all be empty now, of course. With the gate to Heaven closed, and no angels left to tread the mountain, they would be unable to grow, as only holy ground could sustain them.

Which meant, of course, that Frisk had found _these_ particular flowers somewhere in the depths of the Ruins…

Frisk.

He'd nearly done the child grievous harm when he'd misread the scene he'd walked in on, and it occurred to Sans now that while the little girl had placed the whole of her trust in him, he had not reciprocated in the slightest. And there was the guilt again, black and sharp in his gut, cutting him up from within as he was forced to face this fact. It was an ugly one, and while he was inclined to justify himself by holding up the six previous examples of humanity who had failed the trials, Sans couldn't.

' _People will burn you, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't give the next one to come along the benefit of the doubt. If you never take the risk and open yourself up, you'll never learn to love anyone, and no one will have the chance to love you.'_

He could hear her like she was standing at his side again; reach out just an inch and his hand would brush hers…

But as Sans stood there, eyes closed, heart aching, and cursing those golden flowers, he did not dare. As long as he kept still in the dark of his mind, he could pretend, just for a moment, that Ellie was really there.

After a minute, the seraphim took a long, shaky breath and opened his eyes once more to reality. Disappointed as he ever was to find his self deception was just that, Sans couldn't help but think Ellie would be pleased by the company he was keeping these days.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as another snore escaped Papyrus where he lay in the middle of the livingroom floor. Sans glanced at the spare blanket, but it was nowhere near large enough to cover his taller brother, so he went back up the stairs and ventured into the archangel's room. He returned a moment later with the blanket from the racecar bed Papyrus never actually made use of, and carefully dropped it over his brother's prone figure.

He was just tucking it in around the archangel's shoulders when he began to stir.

"SANS?" Papyrus mumbled.

Realizing a rare moment was in danger of passing him by, Sans reached out and gently placed his hand lightly on the crown of his brother's head, preventing him from lifting it to look at him.

"it's alright, pap. you were just sleeping," Sans said, voice low and gentle. His smile widened some at the archangel's huff of annoyance at this turn of events, but before he could begin to complain, or attempt to rise, the seraphim said, "i wanted to tell you something." Papyrus went still at his words, and must have picked up on the sincerity lingering behind his smile, as he remained where he was without complaint.

Sans took a breath, searching helplessly for the words he needed. His gaze drifted to where Frisk lay in her little fort, and her chastisement from earlier that day rose to remind him.

' _You_ _ **should**_ _tell him that, though. Why wouldn't you tell him that all the time if you think it?'_

"i just," Sans began, then halted awkwardly. He forced himself to keep going, though, knowing it needed to be said. "i just wanted to say that i'm...i'm real proud of you, little brother," the seraphim admitted, feeling awkward as hell, but a little relieved at the same time. "i know i don't say it much...if ever," he admitted with a grimace. "but i am. truth is, i admire you. you always give people the benefit of the doubt despite all the shit we've been through, and you're always so damn hopeful i think you're doing the hoping for both of us," he mused quietly. "I know i've been...distant, since the fall" Sans admitted unhappily. "but that doesn't change how goddamn proud i am of you and the person you've become."

No sound came from the archangel still sprawled on the floor before him, making the seraphim frown in concern as he lifted his hand from Papyrus' head. "Pap?" he asked.

A distinctly wet, sniffly sound escaped his brother then, and Sans felt his throat go tight even as his smile spread. "THANKS, SANS," the archangel said, a little tremor rippling through the expanse of his angular wings as he remained where he lay, face pressed determinedly into the patterned carpet.

"are you crying?" Sans asked with a weak laugh as he sat back on his heels, trying very hard not to do as much himself.

"NO!" Papyrus objected heatedly even as he sniffed again, wings lifting to cover his head, hiding him from his brother's sight.

"i swear to god, if you make _me_ cry, i'm going to take it all back," Sans said as he brushed irritably at his dangerously damp cheeks with the palm of his hand.

The archangel lunged at his brother, then, and wrapped him up in a tight hug that made Sans grunt with surprise as he was enveloped by a sea of crimson feathers. "YOU CAN'T!" Papyrus said. "YOU ALREADY SAID IT SO YOU CAN'T TAKE IT BACK. THAT'S THE RULES."

A choked laugh escaped the smaller skeleton as he pushed half-heartedly at his brother's wings, to no avail. "alright, alright, i won't," he said. "but keep it down, i only just now finally got the kid to sleep."

Papyrus held Sans for a little longer, and the seraphim indulged him, feeling uncannily like a small dog being carried about by an exuberant child. When his brother finally put him down, Sans straightened out his hoodie and turned to look at Frisk, who was only just visible through a gap in the sheet spread over the sofa.

Papyrus did the same as he folded his wings carefully along his back and settled cross-legged on the floor, a thoughtful expression on his long face. "SHE'S GOING TO GET HURT IF SHE KEEPS GOING, SANS," he observed eventually in an uncharacteristically somber voice, surprising his brother into looking at him. He had no answer for the archangel, so he said nothing in reply. Who could argue with such a bald truth? Their eyes met though, and after a pensive moment Papyrus said, "SHE SHOULDN'T GO ON TO THE NEXT TRIAL. FRISK SHOULD STAY HERE WITH US."

"what, forever?" Sans asked with an incredulous, breathy laugh that died off quickly in the face of Papyrus' earnest expression.

"YES," the archangel answered, leaning in closer, brow furrowed as he continued. "YOU HEARD HER EARLIER, SHE HAS NO FAMILY ON THE SURFACE. _WE_ COULD BE HER FAMILY, SANS! SHE WOULD BE SAFE HERE WITH US, AND HAPPY, AND WE WOULD BE HAPPY TOO. I KNOW IT!"

Sans stared at his brother for a long minute before turning his gaze to the sleeping child once more. He shouldn't have been surprised by the temptation to agree that swelled within him at the suggestion, but he was. It'd be so easy to settle into a happy, comfortable routine; he'd already seen the seeds of it sown over the last two days. Papyrus was right, they could be a happy little family, just the three of them (and their annoying dog) in the underground, cooking and living and laughing together… assuming they were able to talk Frisk out of her mission. Whatever promise she had made held a powerful sway over her, but surely they could convince her it wasn't worth her life…

It was all a pipe dream, though, Sans knew that. Entertaining it for that brief moment made the seraphim smile, but he soon shook himself free of the temptation with a heavy sigh. "we can't, pap, you know that. it's too late. by now everyone in the underground knows she's here. if she doesn't keep going now, they'll come for her by force."

' _and i couldn't fight them all; not anymore,'_ he added silently in the confines of his own head as he frowned outwardly.

Papyrus looked as though he wanted to argue, but his face fell and Sans knew his brother saw the truth in his statement. The archangel heaved a huge sigh as he veiled his wings and flopped back onto the carpet to contemplate the ceiling. "I HATE THAT YOU'RE RIGHT ALL THE TIME," he huffed unhappily.

A rueful laugh escaped Sans as he reached down and tucked the blanket back in around Papyrus. "believe me, bro, if there's any time i'd be happy to be wrong it'd be now."

Sans woke to the sound of shouting and the clatter of pots and pans coming up through the floor of his bedroom. His eyes flew open as the noise registered and filled him with dread at the prospect of the house going up in flames again if the two idiots in the kitchen below were left alone much longer.

A door for the kitchen, he thought as he rolled quickly out of bed and dragged his discarded shorts up over his boxers, that's what he needed. A big sturdy door with a lock only he had a key to so his brother and their precocious young guest could be kept away from all the sharp and/or flammable objects in the house when he wasn't around to supervise.

A rumpled, mostly clean t-shirt was dragged on over his head as he trotted down the stairs and hurried towards the kitchen. He didn't smell any smoke, so that was promising at least. The sound of Frisk shouting his name definitely wasn't though.

"Saaaa-" the little girl began again as she charged headlong out of the kitchen just as the seraphim tried to enter. She cannoned into him with a yelp and would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't grabbed her.

"hey there, hot shot, what's your hurry? you guys burning the house down again?" Sans asked as he steadied her.

"No!" Frisk objected defensively as she pushed her wild, uncombed hair out of her face, crown of flowers nowhere to be seen for a change. I quick glance around the room revealed it remained on the side table as yet. "But Papyrus keeps trying to add tomatoes to everything and it's _gross,_ " she complained and took his hand in hers so she could drag him back to the kitchen.

As he was dragged around the corner, the seraphim noted distantly that though her stick was still by the door with her shoes, Frisk was able to navigate their home without trouble. The fact it was so sparsely furnished probably helped; there wasn't much to trip over once one learned the general layout of the place.

'Gross' was a sentiment Sans heartily agreed with when he stepped into the kitchen and took in the mess that the pair had generated while he slept. He was far from a clean freak (pretty much the opposite, really), but the one exception to his slobbery came in the kitchen thanks to his mentor in the cooking arts. He could still hear the sharp crack of a snapping towel flicking at the back of his legs when he didn't clean up after himself during lessons...

Papyrus turned to look at him when he arrived, and the archangel shot Frisk a look of betrayal. "YOU TATTLED!" he accused.

"You're ruining breakfast!" she shot back, throwing her hands in the air.

"I CAN MAKE IT WORK!" Papyrus objected as he looked down at the large mixing bowl in his hands. Sans wasn't sure what it was _supposed_ to be, but it looked distinctly...soupy.

Frisk's hands went to her hips as she adopted a skeptical tilt of her head that made Sans grin. He looked up at his brother and jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he said, "beat it, bro. i'll handle things from here so we don't wind up at grillby's two days in a row."

Papyrus cocked one brow in disbelief down at the seraphim. "YOU EAT THERE MOST DAYS, WHY WOULD THAT BE BAD?"

Sans blinked. The archangel wasn't wrong, he _did_ eat over at Grillby's most days, assuming he worked up the energy to find anything to eat at all. The new factor in the equation, of course, was Frisk. _He_ could subsist on a daily diet of cheeseburgers and fries without second thought, but for some reason, the idea of subjecting their young charge to the same felt objectionable.

"yeah, well..." Sans muttered as he shouldered his way past his brother and fetched the step stool out from under the kitchen sink so he'd actually be able to reach it, "doesn't hurt to mix it up."

He could feel Papyrus' eyes on the back of his head as he washed his hands, but Sans ignored him. "WELL," the archangel said, "I DON'T KNOW HOW YOUR COOKING COULD POSSIBLY COMPARE TO MINE, SANS, BUT I WON'T GET IN YOUR WAY IF YOU WANT TO TRY YOUR HAND AT BREAKFAST."

His back still to his brother, the seraphim rolled his eyes expressively, but smiled at him when he turned. "thanks, bro, i'll do my best," he mused, working hard to suppress a grin when he saw the way Frisk was struggling not to laugh behind the taller skeleton.

Papyrus hummed skeptically, but put his bowl down on the counter and patted Frisk on the head on his way back into the livingroom. "DON'T LET HIM BURN ANYTHING," he told her.

The human did laugh then, and Sans rolled his eyes again as he jumped off the step stool and went to the counter to see what progress had been made on 'breakfast'. There were several mixing bowls scattered across the surface, as well as a great deal of flour and other ingredients, including the tomatoes that had so incensed Frisk.

"so, uh...what was the end goal here, kiddo?" he asked Frisk as she joined him, looking morose at the mess she knew he must be examining.

"Scones," she answered with an expressive sigh that made her narrow shoulders heave with the size of it. "I used to make them all the time with Grandma, but Pap kept trying to add stuff," the girl explained with a wrinkle of her nose.

Sans snorted lightly in amusement. "pap's outlook on cooking tends to be 'the more the better' unfortunately, " he mused as he grabbed a kitchen towel off the counter and started mopping up the worst of the mess. "we'll just restart. there's no saving this mess," the seraphim observed as he briefly examined the contents of one bowl before dumping the lot in the trash. How his brother had managed to turn scones into slurry was beyond him, though certainly intriguing.

"You know how to make scones?" Frisk asked, brightening up at the prospect of a competent 'assistant' for her breakfast project.

"why the surprise?" he asked with a low chuckle as he glanced over at the girl. Spotting a sizeable smudge of flour across one of her cheeks, Sans found a second clean kitchen towel hanging from the oven door handle and wiped her face clean.

The girl grumbled at his mothering, but not enough to actually pull away. When he'd finished and gone back to dumping dirty bowls in the too-tall sink and giving them a swift scrub, Frisk said, "Well, Papyrus said you never cooked and always ate out."

A huff of laughter escaped the skeleton as he reached back and passed her a now clean bowl and his towel. "dry this," he instructed her, and after a moment's feeling about, Frisk found what he was handing her, and did as she was told. She was rewarded for her patience when he eventually answered, "just cuz i don't cook much doesn't mean i don't know how." He grimaced a little and admitted, "it's been a long time. can't blame him for forgetting, i guess."

Or for assuming that cooking brought back painful memories for the seraphim, which, in his brother's defense, was quite right.

Sans glanced back over his shoulder at Frisk as he passed her another bowl, which she accepted and set about drying without complaint before carefully setting it aside on the counter. Watching the way she bent her head over her work brought a smile to his face, and once again, the prospect of doing something that he had taken up the habit of avoiding seemed that little bit easier when the child was involved.

"Who taught you to cook?" Frisk asked conversationally once they'd finished cleaning and started actually cooking. "My Grandma taught me," she volunteered with only a minimal twinge in her voice that Sans had the good grace to ignore.

The seraphim paused mid motion at the question, hand hovering over the oven dial. He gave himself a mental shake, and answered, "an old friend," then finished preheating the oven.

"What was their name?" the girl asked curiously as she passed the angel one of the bowls she'd dried.

Again the moment of hesitation. "doesn't matter," he answered eventually as he fetched out a bag of flower from a cabinet. "they're long gone now," he added in a soft tone that Frisk recognized well enough to stop asking questions on the matter.

Between the two of them, Frisk and Sans were able to put together a batch of scones they were both quite pleased with. The seraphim allowed the girl to knead the bulk of the dough while he set aside a portion of it in a second bowl that he proceeded to add extra seasoning too.

The human lifted her nose and sniffed experimentally, then asked, "What are you doing?"

"just a little something for pap," the seraphim answered with a chuckle. "You want to add anything to yours?"

"Do you have any currants?" Frisk asked hopefully as she paused in her kneading. "That's what we always put in ours at home," she added wistfully.

Sans grimaced as he set aside his bowl and went to check the cabinets. "Sorry, kiddo, no currants," he said, making her sigh in disappointment. God, when was the last time he'd had currant scones? Not since the fall, that was for sure…"we've got raisins?" he offered when his hand fetched up against a box of them. He popped it open to make sure they were still good. While a little on the dry side, even for raisins, they seemed okay.

"That works," Frisk said with a smile, apparently happy with this substitute.

Sans tapped her hand lightly with the box so she could take it from him, and said, "here, go hog wild, kid."

She giggled and proceeded to add several generous handfuls to her dough while he finished his. That done, Sans pulled out two cookie sheets and the flour, then tugged Frisk lightly by the hand to stand in front of him at the counter so she could flour the pans.

"here, i'm always terrible at this part," he said, "gimme a _hand,_ will you?" he joked, making her giggle as she plunged her hand into the flour.

"How come you're bad at flouring?" she asked as he guided her hand lightly with his to be sure they got an even spread.

"not a whole lot here to scoop flour with," he explained and poked her cheek with the boney finger of his free hand, making her laugh again and nearly scatter flour across the counter.

"Guess it would be pretty hard with no skin," Frisk admitted and dusted her hands off before helping Sans portion out the dough and stick the pans in the oven.

While breakfast cooked, the pair wandered back into the livingroom and Sans turned on the tv. One of Mettaton's performances was on repeat and Frisk seemed intrigued enough by the idea of a performing robot that the seraphim left it, more amused by her expressions while listening than the actual show. The augmented angel had a flair for the dramatic that was a little much for Sans' taste, but he had to admit that Mettaton had an impressive vocal range and dance skills.

The sound of Papyrus sprinting around the edge of the house from the garage brought a smirk to Sans' face, which only grew when Frisk also looked around at the source of the noise, puzzled.

The archangel burst in through the front door, dragging the chill winter wind in on his wings as he exclaimed, "ARE YOU WATCHING METTATON WITHOUT ME?!"

"it's just a repeat from last week," Sans said with a careless wave of a hand as he grinned at his brother's excitement. To say that Papyrus was a fan of Mettaton was a bit of an understatement, and never ceased to amuse the seraphim. Not because his brother was a fan; rather, because Papyrus and Mettaton _knew_ one another from before the fall, though apparently they had seen little of one another since. He'd never been entirely sure as to just how they knew one another, and Papyrus had few enough secrets from him that Sans' had never quite brought himself to attempt unmasking that one.

"You like Mettaton, Pap?" Frisk asked from where she sat on the floor, back against the foot of the sofa while Sans lounged in its left corner, barely taking up a single cushion even sprawled as he was. The little girl grinned up at him, inspiring the tall skeleton to strike a pose.

"WHY OF COURSE! I AM, AFTER ALL, HIS _BIGGEST_ FAN!"

Sans shot his brother a sidelong look and remarked casually, "thought napsta won that contest?"

Mood soured, Papyrus dropped his pose and shut the door behind him, then stomped over to the sofa and dropped gracelessly into the corner opposite his brother. He took care not to hit Frisk, but less so with his brother who got a face full of red feathers before he veiled his wings.

"THAT'S ONLY BECAUSE NAPSTABLOOK IS _LITERALLY_ METTATON'S COUSIN. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO COMPETE WITH THAT?" Papyrus grumbled. He glanced between the two of them as the show went to commercial and asked, "WELL, WHERE IS BREAKFAST? DID SANS BURN IT AFTER ALL?"

Sans kicked his brother in the arm with one bare foot, which the larger skeleton pushed away after making a sound of disgust. "it's baking," the seraphim informed the larger skeleton. "should be done any minute."

As though triggered by his words, the timer buzzed in the other room, prompting the seraphim to roll off the sofa and saunter towards the kitchen. He casually jumped over Papyrus' long leg without comment when the archangel stuck it out in a veiled attempt to trip him up. When Frisk dutifully moved to join him, though, he planted a hand on her head and ruffled her hair. "stay put, i got it," he instructed her after a glance at the tv told him the show would be back on momentarily.

By the time Sans returned with three stacked plates, a pan of scones tht was also crowded with every breakfast condiment he could muster (and a few that were distinctly _not_ meant for the most important meal of the day) the tv volume had been cranked up near to max and Mettaton was belting out a cover of some human rock song while gyrating on screen in a fashion the seraphim was vaguely relieved Frisk couldn't actually see. He nearly dropped everything when Papyrus started mimicking the robot, the absurdity of which made Sans nearly double over with laughter that no one could hear thanks to the volume being turned so high.

The seraphim barely managed to get everything to the side table by the door without it all ending up on the floor when Frisk danced over, moving with a grace and agility that would no doubt be surprising to most, all things considered. "You have to dance too," she informed him bluntly, making him laugh again at the abruptness of it all.

Frisk didn't give him a chance to make a reply, let alone try to back out of it, as she grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and hauled him over to the open space in front of the tv where Papyrus was somehow managing to do one half of a lindy hop to a rock song, which dragged another peal of laughter from his shorter brother. Considering the style had been invented over a hundred years after the fall, Sans could only assume the other skeleton had been finding himself in odd corners of undertube again. Still, while Papyrus couldn't cook to save _anyone's_ life, quick footwork had always been a strength he'd applied to his swordsmanship, and it applied just as well to dancing.

Frisk, true to form, was much more interpretive in her movements, though just as energetic. She had excellent rhythm and moved with a grace uncommon in a girl her age, making Sans wonder if she didn't do this often. When the human didn't hear him immediately start, she stretched out one leg and poked him in side, making him swat her away with a grin before giving up the ghost and joining in on the madness. His brother wasn't the only one with quick feet, after all, and he wasn't about to let him forget it.

The song ended to a great deal of breathless, wheezing laughter from all involved, as well as a dramatic air guitar solo from Sans leading up to the final crescendo. After one last pinwheel strum of his imaginary instrument, the seraphim grabbed up the remote and turned the volume back down to a more reasonable level, chuckling all the time while Frisk giggled and half hopped, half danced over to the table. She narrowly avoided tripping over the Annoying Dog, who had apparently taken refuge from the madness under the table that normally housed their pet rock, but now held breakfast.

"Oh, there you are, Dog!" Frisk said brightly as the creature rubbed against her legs and yapped happily, barely remaining still long enough for her to scratch its ears.

"back already?" Sans mused as he made his way to the table as well. "normally it bums dinner, crashes on the couch, and is gone by morning."

"It must have known there'd be scones," the girl said with a grin as she accepted the plate Sans handed her. Frisk reached down to pet the dog again and added, "I hope it doesn't go, though. I like it."

"IT SEEMS TO LIKE YOU AS WELL," Papyrus observed cannily as he joined them. "PERHAPS IT WILL STAY IF YOU ASK."

Sans' brow furrowed at this. "not sure that's how dogs actually work, bro."

"SO _NOW_ YOU'RE A DOG EXPERT?"

"you don't have to be an expert to know dogs don't speak unless you bribe 'em with treats," the seraphim answered with a cheeky grin. Before Papyrus could roll his non-existant eyes, Sans took several scones, put them on a plate, and shoved the lot into his brother's open hands. "those are for you," in informed the archangel.

Papyrus looked down at them in surprise, and then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "THESE LOOK DIFFERENT THAN THE OTHERS," he observed.

"yep," Sans said as he took a small bowl of red paste he had mixed together and put that on his brother's plate as well. "put that on them."

"What'd you make?" Frisk asked curiously as she took a few scones for herself, then asked, "Is there butter?"

Sans considered declining to answer, but decided against it when he saw that Papyrus' expression continued suspicious as he regarded his breakfast. "savoury scones," he explained and passed Frisk the butter, "and a kinda tomato spread since he was trying to put tomatoes in the scones earlier but they're way too wet to work right."

Papyrus' jaw dropped in surprise as he looked from his brother and back down to his special made breakfast, and then back to Sans. The seraphim shot him a smug sort of look that said 'well don't you feel like a jerk', and Papyrus was forced to admit internally that he did. "THANKS, SANS," he said a little sheepishly.

"you're welcome," Sans replied, still feeling a tad smug before turning his attention back to his own scones once Frisk had finished applying a generous layer of butter to the inside of her own. "what else you want on there, frisk?" he asked her.

The girl just shook her head and smiled, though. "I'm good, I just like butter!"

"what?" Sans objected. "i've got like… fifty condiments here and all you want is butter?"

"Yep!" was her content answer as she gathered up her plate and wandered back over to the couch with the Annoying Dog on her heels. "That's how I like 'em!"

"philistine," he grumbled under his breath as he turned back to the collection of bottles and jars arrayed before him so he could work his questionable breakfast arts. Condiments, like sleep and self medication, were an art humans had taken to new levels, for which Sans could never thank them enough. The seraphim hailed from the 'more the merrier' school of thinking when it came to toppings.

When Sans joined Papyrus and Frisk on the sofa with his plate, his brother made a sound of disgust when he caught sight of his food. "SANS, WHY DO YOU INSIST ON COMMITTING HATE CRIMES AGAINST BREAKFAST FOODS."

"it's not a hate crime, pap, this is _art,_ " Sans insisted primly as he carefully scooped up one dripping, wobbling scone and shoved half of it in his mouth before it could fall apart.

Wrinkling her nose, Frisk turned to Papyrus and asked, "What'd he put on there?"

"EVERYTHING," the archangel answered with an almost harassed huff.

Sans drowned out the human's loud 'ewwwww' by saying, "not _everything._ "

"WHAT COULD YOU _POSSIBLY_ HAVE LEFT OFF? YOUR PLATE LOOKS LIKE A CRIME SCENE!"

Sans looked down at his plate for a moment while silently counting off toppings on his thin fingers. Eventually, he answered, "ketchup."

Papyrus stared at him in disbelief. "BUT KETCHUP IS YOUR FAVORITE."

"not on _scones,_ you heathen."

An offended sound escaped Papyrus, and Frisk asked, "What's a heathen?"

"a non-believer," Sans told the girl before shoving the other half of his first scone happily into his mouth, grinning around it when the archangel grimaced in disgust.

"I BELIEVE IN THE SANCTITY OF FOOD, THANK YOU," he insisted.

Sans nearly choked on his mouthful, and forced himself to swallow before gasping out, "what?! you want to talk hate crimes against food-"

"Hey, Pap!" Frisk cut in loudly as she turned so she could face him without craning her neck. She held her second scone in one hand, and pushed lightly at one of his arms with the other. "You should eat too! You're just talking!" The girl tilted her head and added, "Dog might eat them for you if you don't."

Papyrus looked sharply down at the floor where the Annoying Dog sat looking up at all three bipeds with a wistful sort of expression on its furry face. When it saw him looking its way, the creature's tail began to wag hopefully as its ears perked forward in anticipation of a treat.

The archangel pulled his plate in closer, making the dog whine in disappointment. He had been about to suggest that he might not try the scones after all, considering what Sans had done to his _own,_ but between Frisk's eager face and Dog's begging, he decided against it. With a sigh, he picked up one of the scones and eyed it closely again. He'd already applied the mysterious tomato spread he had been provided, and now there was nothing but to take a bite.

"you're gonna choke on all that drama, bro," Sans remarked as he watched his brother out of the corner of one eye.

Papyrus rolled his eyes then took a bite. The scone was wonderfully warm and fluffy, with a distinctly savoury taste that blended harmoniously with the tomato based spread. With a start, the taller skeleton realized he recognized the recipe and turned sharply to look at Sans, who was working his way through his second scone.

The archangel swallowed, then said, "SANS-" but paused, unsure of how to continue.

His shorter brother just smiled, though there was a melancholy that lingered behind it. "good, right?"

"Y-YEAH," Papyrus managed to get out, throat suddenly tight as he turned his gaze from Sans back to his food. "I HAVEN'T HAD ONE OF THESE IN FOREVER."

"Sans made you special scones before?" Frisk asked curiously, certain she was missing something, though unsure of what.

"NO," the archangel answered after taking another bite. "OUR… FRIEND, USED TO MAKE THESE JUST FOR ME."

"i just figured out the recipe," Sans explained with a too-casual shrug.

"The friend that taught you to cook?" the girl asked, head tilted to one side, bird-like in her curiosity, her own scone forgotten.

Again Papyrus looked at Sans, and his brother simply replied, "yeah."

Frisk nodded thoughtfully, then asked Papyrus, "Can I try?"

The archangels considered her request for a long minute before finally agreeing. "VERY WELL, ONE BITE!" The girl held out a hand, and he handed her his second, uneaten scone.

Frisk sniffed it lightly, then took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Her nose wrinkled a little when she swallowed and she laughed as she said, "Tastes like a spaghetti dinner!"

"YES," Papyrus agreed with a wide smile. "WHICH IS WHY IT IS SO GOOD!" he said as he took back his scone and had another bite of the first.

"bro, you're gonna turn _into_ spaghetti if you keep on like this," Sans joked as he finished off his second scone, somehow managing to keep from dripping on himself in the process.

"Spaghetti Pap!" Frisk declared with a laugh of amusement at this mental image. "Then you'd have noodles for arms and legs!"

"and a meatball for a head," Sans added with a snicker. "oh wait, he already does-"

"I HAVE NO SUCH THING!"

Still laughing at the concept of a Papyrus constructed entirely from spaghetti, Frisk allowed her scone to lower dangerously close to Annoying Dog who knew an opportunity when it saw one, and made a lunge for the treat. The girl yelped when her breakfast was snatched right out of her hand and promptly disappeared down the dog's throat.

"Dog!" she cried, horrified at her loss as the creature in question broke into a spasm of delighted full body wiggles at its triumph. "Bad dog, I can't believe you!"

Sans laughed so hard he wheezed as the little girl proceeded to lecture the dog at her feet on basic table manners while the animal stared back, completely unabashed. A glance over at his brother revealed that Papyrus was doing his best not to laugh as well, not wanting to appear supportive of breakfast theft, but he was fighting a losing battle. Finally, he chuckled and poked Frisk lightly in the ribs. " _YOU_ WERE THE ONE WAVING A SCONE IN ITS FACE-"

The archangel didn't get to finish his admonition, though, as Frisk yelped and sprang off the couch when he poked her, knocking her plate to the floor to the delight of Dog.

"Don't do that!" She chastised him sharply as she clamped her arms tight across her chest. "It tickles!"

Papyrus and Sans shared an astonished look, though for once, it was the former whose face was overtaken by a gleefully wicked expression.

"uh-oh, kid. best run," Sans warned, knowing well what was coming next. In preparation, he pulled his legs up onto the sofa cushion and took hold of his plate to keep it from getting knocked over.

"Why?" Frisk asked worriedly, but it was too late, Papyrus was already springing forward, long legs carrying him across the room in a single long stride.

Before she could take so much as a step away from him, Papyrus was tickling her ribs with long, thin fingers that showed an astonishing skill at finding all of a person's most ticklish spots. Spots a person didn't even know they _had._

"LOOK, SANS, I CAN MAKE HER LAUGH ON COMMAND!"

"Nooo!" the girl shrieked as she squirmed and laughed, struggling vainly to get away from her angelic tormentor. Fallen plate forgotten, the Annoying Dog ran after Papyrus, barking loudly as the skeleton attacked its new friend.

"gonna make her _pee_ on command if you don't watch out," Sans mused as he watched his brother chase the girl into a corner where he had her at his mercy. Her would-be furry rescuer kept at bay by the expanse of one quickly unveiled wing.

"Sans help!" Frisk begged breathlessly as she dropped to the floor and crawled between Papyrus' legs in an attempt to escape. She made it almost to the couch before Papyrus caught her by the ankle and dragged her back.

The seraphim watched a moment longer, and when Frisk seemed ready to expire right there on the carpet from overstimulation that wasn't remotely helped by the Annoying Dog's frantic barking and scampering about, he put aside his plate and went to her rescue.

"alright, pap, come on, let the kid go," he instructed the archangel, laughing at the almost offended look on Papyrus' face when he glanced up at him.

"WHAT? NO! I'M WINNING!"

"i think you're killing her," Sans remarked and laughed again when Frisk took advantage of Papyrus' distraction to scramble in his direction and throw herself on his tender mercies. The seraphim caught her and wrapped one arm protectively around the girl.

"Save me, save me!" Frisk cried, jumping a little on her toes, still laughing breathlessly, hair wild from rolling on the floor. "He's gone bad, Sans!"

"I'LL SHOW YOU BAD, LITTLE HUMAN!" Papyrus cried as he lunged forward again, barely managing to avoid tripping over Dog in the process.

Sans swept Frisk up into his arms and sidestepped quickly to avoid the archangel. "stop while you're ahead, pap," he warned, but Papyrus recovered quickly and made a second grab. Still grinning, Sans rolled his eyes and unveiled his wings.

The massive spread of his right wing filled the distance between the two brothers, and Papyrus crashed directly into it's soft surface with a grunt that betrayed the unyielding strength that lingered beneath the luminous white feathers.

"HEY, YOU'RE CHEATING," Papyrus cried as he tried to dodge around Sans' good wing. Big as it was, though, it was in danger of not only filling the small living room, but knocking over the table besides. The seraphim had only to rotate slightly to effectively block his brother from any one direction. Only Dog was able to wiggle under the long pinions to join Sans and Frisk in its protective circle, panting cheerfully at this turn of events.

This fact so amused Sans that he broke out into laughter again as Frisk wiggled higher in his grip, giggling at this unexpected turn. "come on, man," he said, "just give it up."

"NEVER!" the archangel cried as he made a mad attempt to jump _over_ his brother's wing. "I CAN'T ADMIT DEFEAT TWICE IN TWO DAYS, I'LL BE A LAUGHING STOCK!"

Papyrus' ploy nearly worked, but Sans stepped forward this time, and lifted his wing, catching his brother in the chest with the great, feathery expanse. He effortlessly lifted the archangel into the air and pinned him in the corner of the room up near the ceiling.

"well you're gonna have to if you want me to let you down," Sans teased, then glanced at the little girl sitting contentedly in his arms and asked, "whatcha think, kid? If we put a hook up there we could hang him like a wind chime."

Frisk laughed at this idea, but objected, "There's no wind in here though! You'd have to get a fan."

Sans nodded sagely at this observation. "well, modern art then," he corrected with a wicked grin. Papyrus objected loudly at this, but his actual words were lost in the feathers of Sans' wing as he slipped a little thanks to his own flailing.

"Yeah!" Frisk exclaimed and Dog barked as she shifted in Sans' grip again. "Let's do it! We can-"

In her excitement, the girl tried to rise in the seraphim's arms, and ignorant of its injured state, grabbed the shoulder of his left wing for leverage.

The change that overcame Sans was immediate as a ragged gasp of agony tore from his chest. He dropped Frisk as though she had burned him and stumbled backwards blindly, good wing fanning the air frantically for balance. The Annoying Dog levitated nearly a foot in the air at the sudden thrashing, and bolted under the nearest table to hide. Papyrus fell to the floor with a crash, but was back on his feet in a heartbeat, only to be knocked back into the wall again when his brother's wing clipped him as the seraphim spun blindly in an attempt to escape the pain.

Frisk remained on the floor where she had been dropped, too frightened by the noise and sudden shift in mood to move. "Sans?" she called, voice trembling as she reached blindly for him.

A guttural, almost animal noise was the only response she received as Sans' flailing sent the tv to the ground with a crash and he dropped into a heap in the center of the living room, panting raggedly. After a moment's struggle the seraphim managed to veil his wings with what appeared to be a monumental effort that left him trembling and clutching his left shoulder as the ghost of the pain the girl had inflicted on him racked his body.

Terrified, Frisk still managed to push herself to her feet and moved in the direction she could hear Sans gasping as he struggled not to retch. Before she made it more than a few steps, though, Papyrus stopped her with a large hand heavy on her shoulder as he gently tugged her back. The girl trembled under his touch, but she did as she was bid, tears springing to her sightless eyes to spill down her flushed cheeks.

Papyrus stepped around the child and approached his brother carefully, voice low and gentle as though Sans were some wild animal that might take off at the slightest hint of danger.

"SANS," the archangel called. "YOU'RE ALRIGHT," he reassured the seraphim quietly as he reached out to his brother, who had doubled over on his knees on the carpet.

" _don't touch me_!" Sans bit out sharply, voice ragged as he fought for control.

Papyrus pulled back his hand and quietly retreated to crouch beside Frisk who was wiping furtively at her face with the sleeve of her sweater, lost but unwilling to break the strained silence that settled over the livingroom. They all remained there for several minutes until the shaking in Sans' frame subsided some, and he slowly, gradually, got to his feet. The movements were almost unnatural, as though an inexperienced puppeteer were controlling the seraphim's every gesture with invisible strings and an unsteady hand.

Seeming to regain himself some, Sans said, "i'm… i'm going upstairs." He glanced over his shoulder at Papyrus and Frisk, eyelights barely discernable pinpricks in his dark sockets. "for awhile," he added as an afterthought, then stumbled towards the stairs, hand groping blindly for the bannister so he could haul himself up.

Behind him, Sans could hear Frisk start to sob as Papyrus tried to soothe her. Some small part of the seraphim felt terrible for the fright he'd likely given the girl, and wanted to tell her everything would be alright when he'd laid down for a few hours (or days). Unfortunately, the rest of him was too intent on making it to the dark, quiet safety of his bedroom where he could wallow in pain and self pity for a few hours (or days) in peace and quiet to even try.

In the living room below, Papyrus wrapped Frisk up in his arms and let her bury her face in his chest for the second time in as many days as he watched his brother make his unsteady way to his room and shut the door quietly behind him. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Sans look quite so bad, but then, he'd never seen someone actually _grab_ the seraphim's ruined wing either. Not that it was Frisk's fault.

He looked down at the trembling child in his arms, but before he could say anything to reassure her, she turned her tear stained face up towards him and asked, "W-what's wrong with Sans? Did I hurt him?"

"NO," Papyrus answered immediately, then hesitated and said, "WELL, YES. BUT IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT." Judging by the way Frisk's bottom lip trembled, Papyrus got the impression this wasn't the best of answers, so he endeavored to clarify. "SANS INJURED HIS LEFT WING A VERY, _VERY_ LONG TIME AGO. YOU JUST… AGGRAVATED IT."

Frisk sniffled hugely and asked "What happened to him?"

The archangel lifted her into his arms and made his way into the kitchen as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, her tears finally beginning to slow. He found a paper towel and gave it to her so she could blow her nose, which she did with a great deal of noise and mucus that had him accepting the mess back by one of the untouched corners to drop it in the trash. "IT'S NOT MY PLACE TO TELL THAT STORY, I THINK," he answered eventually. Frisk frowned at this reply, but before she could object, Papyrus continued, "IN TIME, HE WILL TELL YOU I THINK, IF IT'S YOU ASKING. HE IS QUITE FOND OF YOU, FRISK."

The girl's lip began to tremble traitorously again at his words. "But what if… what if Sans _hates_ me now, Pap?" she wailed and buried her face in his increasingly damp chest again.

Papyrus actually chuckled at the very idea, which went a great deal further to reassuring Frisk than anything he might have actually said. "SANS WON'T HATE YOU."

Her face still buried in his sweater, Frisk asked in a small, shaking voice, "But how can you be _sure_ he won't hate me?"

A smile tugged at Papyrus' lips and he said, "BECAUSE I KNOW MY BROTHER. BESIDES, I AM THE _GREAT_ ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS! HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY DOUBT ME?" he demanded, jogging her gently in his arms in an attempt to cheer her, earning himself a wet little laugh for his efforts. He remained there in the kitchen, Frisk in his arms, for a minute longer until she'd gotten herself under control again, then said, "COME ON, LET'S CLEAN UP, AND THEN, MAYBE, WE WILL BUILD A SNOW FORT."

Frisk grimaced at the suggestion of cleaning, but brightened at the idea of playing in the snow. "Okay," she agreed. "But only if we do snow angels too."

Papyrus stared at her, "WHAT IS A SNOW ANGEL?"

Frisk looked affronted.

XXXX

In the soft, velvet darkness of his room, pain dragged Sans back into memories of the worst day of his life.

XXXX

Standing on the stairs of the temple, Sans felt Asriel die. They _all_ felt Asriel die a slow, horrible death at the hands of the humans that cut his wings, butchered his heart, and burned his bones for the sake of their dark magics.

As one, the angels wept, and Sans was no exception. Tears spilled down his face as he stared unseeing into the cloudy summer sky. The air over the mountain was hot and heavy, a suffocating prelude to the rain that would no doubt fall by sunset.

The rage, Asgore's rage, that followed burned away the tears and consumed the lesser angels like a spark among so much tinder, and dragged every last one of them under his control. Only the Commander's fellow seraphim on earth remained immune, though Sans felt nothing at all from Toriel, only a great, dark emptiness where she normally burned like a steady presence in the divine web that connected them all.

Thoughts of revenge burned across the surface of Sans' mind, but he quickly pushed them away, knowing they were Asgore's, rather than his own. Patience. He was duty bound to the gate, and Heaven would send assistance; Asgore's pain echoed across the higher spheres for every angel to hear. Help would come.

He'd probably never forgive himself for not interfering sooner in what came next.

The eradication of the first village the Commander of the Heavenly Host and his quickly massing army came to staggered Sans, but still he waited. _Surely_ Heaven would intervene. He could not reach Asgore without breaking his link with the gate that joined Heaven and earth, which would leave any potential help stranded above, and everyone else below trapped with their mad Commander.

A city burned next, and the dark wizards that had killed seraphim Asriel burned with it, their blood soaked magics as nothing before the might of Asgore's force. Still the seraphim, maddened by the loss of his son, pushed onward to burn more towns and cities to their foundations. The Sorcerer's Enclave visited him as he held vigil and swore they would end the bloodshed if Heaven didn't, but Sans vowed that help would come.

It did not.

Realizing that Heaven dared not send help for fear the mad seraphim would take them under his control as well, Sans took to the air and abandoned his post for the first, and last, time. His vast, white wings caught the air and carried him far abroad from the mountain, further than he had gone in the twelve years since he had taken the posting on Mount Ebott, and he felt his bond to the gate strain. When he crossed the invisible boundary line that marked the edge of the mountain's territory, the connection snapped as sharp and sudden as a harp string, making Sans flinch, though his wings did not falter.

Dread and fury burned in the pit of his gut as he honed in on Asgore's location. It wasn't difficult to find him. Sans could have seen him from a hundred miles off by the trail of smoke and ruin his press-ganged army left in their wake. Spying another town in the distance, the rogue seraphim picked up the pace, intent on preventing the death of yet more innocents.

The angels swarmed like starlings, a great cloud of multi-hued wings that created new and peculiar air currents as their flock shifted this way and that, driven ever onward by what lurked at its center. Principalities, powers, dominions, virtues, thrones...they all flew together, and though they baited Sans as he entered their midst, one of them, but not _one of them_ , they dared not touch him.

The seraphim looked at them with pity as he passed, white wings cutting a sharp contrast amongst so much color. The face of every last angel, whatever their type, was emotionless, eyes wide and vacant as Asgore's will overrode their minds and robbed them of their freedom. The Commander's wrath had doomed each and every one of them to committing atrocities none of them would even consider when in their right minds. But, just as a drone could never deny a queen bee, so too could the lesser angels not refuse their Commander here on earth.

In the days of the Last War it had been an advantage to have their entire fighting force unified under one superior military mind, but now…

Sans breached the innermost layer of the swarm and found an open space there, with Asgore at its core. Circling him, like planets orbiting a star, were the archangels. Papyrus, Undyne, and the others all wore the same blank expressions as their lesser brethren, making the seraphim curse silently as he closed in. Even they weren't immune to their lord's power.

Which left Sans utterly alone.

"asgore!" he shouted over the wind that had been stirred by so many wings. The Commander turned to look at him, the fur of his cheeks matted by tears, eyes wide and wild. "asgore, stop this senseless bloodshed," Sans commanded, eyes blazing as fury at the destruction that had been wrought on so many innocents rose to burn harsh and bright in him. No more. He would allow it to go no further.

"They killed my son, Sans!" the Commander roared, teeth bared as his immense indigo wings fanned the air around him, halting his forward movement when Sans intercepted him. "They must pay for their sins!"

"this is madness!" Sans countered, cutting the air with a gloved hand. "you killed the ones that took your son; leave the rest of humanity in peace!"

"I can't do that," Asgore said, formerly agonized tones gone flat and tired. "You didn't see what they did to Asriel...to my little boy. Rotten, all rotten to the core, festering under our eyes all this time, and us none the wiser," he muttered, speaking more to himself than Sans, now. The skeleton watched the Commander warily until Asgore unexpectedly looked up at him again said, "Move aside, Sans. I have work to do."

"i will not," the shorter seraphim replied, words hard and unyielding as he spread his wings wide. "Heaven may fear you enough to cower behind its gates, but i don't." His gaze strayed to the host of angels that surrounded them, and he added, "i won't let you abuse them, or humanity, any longer in your mad quest for vengeance."

Fury burned clear across Asgore's face at Sans' words, and he spat, "I should have known you'd pick humanity over your own kind. You've been tainted by their rot! I'll cleanse the creator's world of them _and_ you, Sans! You are not fit for those wings on your back."

Realizing just how far gone his friend truly was in his grief, Sans bared his teeth, eyes flashing as he shouted, "come and take them, then!"

Asgore roared and with a sharp sweep of his hand, summoned his crimson trident. It flashed impossibly red in his grip; a pulsing wound in the fabric of reality as the Commander swung it up and lunged towards Sans. The smaller seraphim dropped, allowing his opponent to pass overhead as the simple leather jerkin he wore over his high collared linen shirt was replaced by a heavy silver cuirass and pauldrons in a flash of white light.

The Commander circled, fixated on Sans as the rest of the Heavenly Host swirled around them, not yet having received a command to interfere. Even the archangels waited in the wings, watching with their frighteningly vacant expressions as the rest of the smaller seraphim's armor manifested around him. He charged forward, dragging his right hand through the void as he did so, and pulled forth his shield before meeting Asgore with a mighty crash.

The commander attempted to use his greater size to his advantage as he bore down on the other seraphim, but the breadth and strength of Sans' wings made up for his shorter stature. With a mighty heave, the skeleton put his shoulder behind his shield and pushed Asgore off of him, then used the hard won breathing space to summon his weapon.

The blade answered his call immediately. The seraphim grasped it by the hilt, heart racing at its answering thrum of magic as he drew it from the void to the sound of singing steel. Sans banished his shield and took the sword's hilt in both hands to swing it up in a glistening arc that caught Agore with the flat of the blade and sent him tumbling through the air when he charged a second time. Only the intervention of the archangels kept their commander from falling to the ground hundreds of feet below.

Asgore's eyes narrowed as he took in the appearance his foe's sword, one massive hand on the heavy dent it had left in his golden plackart. "The many-faced blade," the Commander mused aloud as he caught his breath and shrugged off the attentions of his archangels. "You're no longer worthy of it, Sans. Hand it over now," he growled and extended his hand in silent demand.

Sans only laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion as he flew lazy circles around Asgore, forcing the other angel to rotate midair to keep an eye on him. The blade he bore two-handed was massive, nearly as long as Sans was tall, and broader than any normal sword. Electric blue stones glittered in its chappe, matching the larger one that made up the pommel perched at the end of its leather wrapped hilt, the seal of Heaven boldly embossed on the golden crossguard. It was a beautiful, _deadly_ work of art with an edge that seemed to glint whatever the angle, and whatever the light.

"i forged it myself, asgore, but even if i became unworthy to bear it, that would not make it any more likely to answer to you!" Sans called as he tucked and rolled midair to bypass the archangels, then darted towards his opponent with a sweep of his white wings.

As Sans brought his blade around, it flashed and shifted into something shorter and thinner, better suited for the quick flurry of strikes he unleashed on Asgore once he'd closed the distance between them. The larger seraphim barely fended off the rain of blows with his trident, and was knocked heavily aside again when Sans spun on point, wings tucked in close to his body, and hit him with a blade that now belonged to a heavy war-axe. The smaller angel watched him fall for a moment, tracking his trajectory before raising the axe, which shifted into a bow at his silent command.

A word of enochian summoned an arrow of light to the bow's string, which Sans pulled and released in one fluid movement. A second word and the single projectile became six, all arcing gracefully towards Asgore as he fought to recover.

Sloppy. Asgore was normally a foe not to be trifled with, but his grief made him reckless and impaired his judgement. Even then, though, the Commander of the Heavenly Host had only rarely bested Sans in sparring. His superior military mind and knack for strategy, however, had earned Asgore his post. Perhaps even more important was the seraphim's ability to inspire his troops to victory in the darkest of hours without being forced to resort to puppeting them as he was now. He was a great leader, Sans was more than happy to admit that. Better than someone as solitary as himself could have ever been.

The skeleton had always been more interested in making weapons than inspiring others to use them, after all. Every archangel glady wielded a weapon of his making, as well as the majority of the seraphim. Asgore's pride and own skill had resulted in him creating the trident he wielded, and Sans had to admit that it was a fine piece of work.

Though it was no match for his many-faced blade.

Of all his creations, _this_ was Sans' masterpiece. He had forged many weapons over the course of years, both in Heaven and on earth, then combined them into a single entity through advanced enochian magic of his own devising. This allowed them to all exist in one place and time simultaneously through dimensional compression of the void all angels used to store their weapons, though only one 'face' would show at a time according to the wielder's will.

The making of it had nearly killed Sans, but considering the results, the reward had been well worth the risk.

Before the arrows could strike Asgore from the side, an archangel intercepted and blocked them with a shield, making Sans scowl in annoyance. He lowered the bow, and it shifted back into a broadsword as he readied himself for the inevitable shift in the battle. The seraphim had been hoping to end the fight quickly, but his opponent had apparently hung onto his wits well enough to make that unlikely now.

Sans dove at Asgore, wings carrying him forward at startling velocity. He powered right past the archangel that had blocked his arrows, and was so intent on his objective that he nearly missed the angel that now flew wing-to-wing with him.

Stomach dropping, Sans glanced left and met Papyrus' gaze, though there was no flicker of recognition from his brother who was matching his rapid pace as easily as ever. A subtle ripple of light was all the warning the seraphim received as the red winged archangel drew his rapier and side-slipped towards him, intent on piercing the gaps in Sans' heavy armor. Knowing all too well the accuracy of that blade, the seraphim immediately swerved right, which brought him onto a collision course with Undyne.

Apologizing silently, Sans banished his blade and summoned his shield. The point of her spear shrieked horribly across the polished steel before he used it to swat her aside, leaving him open to the attack of another archangel that he barely twisted in time to avoid.

The attacks came thick and fast, then, as the archangels were let off their leashes to wreak havoc upon Sans. His heavy shield shrank to a more manageable size, and the many-faced blade reappeared as a kukri, swift and agile, to counter the flurry of attacks. The seraphim pierced and sliced with pinpoint accuracy, hating every drop of divine blood spilled, but knowing each of his opponents would prefer it to being forced to commit further crimes against humanity had they been in their right minds.

Surrounded and quickly losing whatever advantage he'd once had, Sans swept his wings up and out, knocking his opponents back and allowing him space to dart higher into the air. When he reached the surrounding swarm of lesser angels, the seraphim strung together several words of enochian that resulted in a blast of wind that cut a hole through their formation, allowing him to rise above the host.

Sans took only a moment to look down on his brethren before turning his gaze skyward to the rain heavy clouds that hung directly overhead. Thunder rolled and the seraphim could feel the rising charge of static crackle across his armor and along the many-faced blade. The skeleton banished sword and shield, then raised both hands overhead as he stared down at the whole of the Heavenly Host, which was rising toward him like the tide. Silently begging his fellow angels for forgiveness, Sans spoke once more.

The wind around them all went dead as the sky opened up, releasing a torrential rainfall that made it almost impossible to tell up from down as Sans' words filled the air. They began, low and soft, then built to a rapid, deafening crescendo that made one's very bones ache before breaking some invisible barrier with an ear-splitting crack. Summoned from the depths of the storm, a cascade of lightning tore across the cloud darkened sky and struck down the Heavenly Host as a single entity that lifted one voice to cry out in agony.

Exhausted and dazed by his own magic, Sans dropped dangerously, wings flagging as he struggled to remain aloft while the lesser angels rained from the sky like so many shooting stars.

Fighting to gather himself, the seraphim lifted his head and choked when he saw Asgore dropping from above, untouched by his magic. Sans summoned his blade, but too slow to stop the Commander from striking him full in the chest with his trident and bear him down to the earth with a manic intensity and magically enhanced strength.

He was a fool. He should have _known,_ should have seen it coming. Even half-mad, Asgore was still one of the greatest strategists Heaven had ever known. Once he'd realized he would not be able to take Sans alone, he would have anticipated the smaller seraphim's every move in fighting such a large force. Resorting to magic would have been the only way Sans could possibly hope to prevail against the full might of the host, and Asgore had reacted accordingly to defend himself until, weakened by his own attack, Sans had left himself open.

White and indigo wings clashed and struggled as Sans fought to get free, gloved hands slipping against his foe's rain-slicked armor. Tired as he was, though, Asgore overpowered him and used his own wings to force Sans' closed until the last possible moment when he let go and left the smaller seraphim to hit the ground at top speed.

Sans immediately blacked out on impact, and the many-faced blade returned to the void.

He woke again moments later when Asgore landed beside him and planted one boot on his cuirass and used it as leverage to drag his trident from San's chest. The damage there was shallow, thanks to the seraphim's armor, but it had done little to save him from the impact of hitting the ground at high speed. Bones were broken, he knew that for sure, and he was having trouble breathing, though it was hard to tell if that was because his damaged armor was impinging on his chest, or something else.

Sans struggled to focus on Asgore as he loomed over him, face expressionless, clearly taking no joy in his victory. All around them, the fallen archangels were beginning to stir, and it wouldn't be long before the lesser angels revived as well.

"I wish you could understand, Sans," Asgore said sadly. "You could still join me. I wish you would."

Sans spat blood, striking the other seraphim directly on the cheek. It was all he could manage in the moment, but it made him grin all the same.

Asgore only sighed and wiped the gore from his fur with a gloved hand. "I thought as much," he said in a resigned tone. Sans lifted his chin defiantly, daring his fellow seraphim to finish him off, but the Commander only shook his head. "Oh no, I'm not actually going to kill you, Sans. I know you're only doing what you feel is right. Defiant and misguided you may be, but you are a good person. I'm going to finish what I started, and then I will be back for you, and we will _all_ go home."

Half choking on the blood running thickly down the back of his throat, Sans rasped, "monster."

"Call me names all you like," Asgore mused as he shifted his grip on his trident. "But it won't change anything, I'm afraid." Sans tried in vain to will his body to move, but it did not respond beyond the twitching of a few fingers. "That said," the commander continued, "I can't have you following after me, either. Sorry about this."

Sans' eyes went wide as Asgore spun his trident so the prongs faced the earth, then brought it down on the prone seraphim's left wing.

The scream that tore from Sans as the weapon pierced him rent his throat and seemed to stretch for an eternity. The agony of it lifted his back into a rigid arch, and just as he thought he had made it through the worst of it, Asgore planted his boot on Sans' chest again and dragged his trident down through the tender flesh under the pale, luminous pinions. He did it again, and then again, rending the delicate webbing that supported the feathers which were torn away in great, matted clumps by Asgore's terrible hand.

Angelic blood was golden by nature, glowing like the selfsame metal when heated to melting point. It coated Sans' wing now, beautiful despite the horror of the moment, giving his ravaged limb a gilt appearance as he thrashed and screamed until it flecked the rain darkened earth around them like a mirror image of the night sky that lingered behind the cloud cover overhead.

When Asgore finished his bloody work, he withdrew his trident and Sans sagged limply back into the dirt. Shock drove him far back into the recesses of his mind and rendered him incapable of anything that didn't include breathing and resisting the urge to vomit. He knew Asgore was saying something, but the seraphim couldn't seem to make sense of the words, and it wasn't long before the Commander flew away, taking the rest of the Heavenly Host with him.

Left alone, Sans lost the battle for consciousness and allowed himself to be swallowed by oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IN REGARDS TO SANS' WING** I was looking back at chapter two and realized I wasn't quite as clear as I had intended to be when mentioning just how it is he was injured. Repeatedly throwing himself against the barrier with an already injured wing after the fall is what kinda broke it beyond repair. I did edit that to make it clearer for new readers, just thought I'd clarify since a friend I had beta was confused on that point and she's the keen type to notice that sort of thing.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading that doozy of a chapter! Remember to leave a review if you enjoyed so I can keep up steam and plow right on into the next chapter!


	4. Tears in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rushing to post this on my lunch break just for you guys, hope you enjoy! XDD  
> Please make sure to leave a review telling me what you enjoyed about this chapter! I put so much time and work into it, and it really makes my day when you guys tell me what you liked!
> 
> Side note, I'll be updating the way the chapters are titled later tonight. I've decided to just give up the ghost and stop trying to limit my number of chapters, which means it doesn't actually matter if the trial number is in the title, lol. This also means I'll probably be doing shorter, though more frequent, updates from here on. Still lengthy, but maybe not 23k lengthy 8'D
> 
> Like last time, I did divide the chapter into sections with 'XXXX' so you can do a search for that to jump down if you aren't able to read all in one go.

Hands, powerful and unyielding, dragged Sans beneath the earth. Decayed root systems stripped him of his armor, ink-dark groundwater drowned out hope, and his fight against that inexorable downward pull robbed the seraphim of his remaining strength. Soft loam filled his eyes, his nose, his mouth, blinding Sans, suffocating him as he tried to scream.

"not yet! not now! i can still fight!" he tried to say though could not as he was dragged into the depths, the earth pressing in on him from all sides. The words burned in his mind, though, even as Sans woke with a start.

Terrified and convinced he was still being buried alive, the seraphim sat bolt upright and tried again to speak the same words, only to find himself gagging on something soft and wet. Panicking, he rolled to one side and leaned over the edge of his mattress to retch. When the full body convulsion did nothing to clear his airway, Sans stuck his fingers in his mouth and physically pulled the obstruction free. He heaved violently again at the sensation of the stuff dragging free of his mouth, but managed to keep his breakfast down.

Coughing and trying not to shake, Sans examined the wet, white material that had nearly choked him. He had a puzzled, disoriented moment when he id not y recognize what it was. A glance around him in the muted darkness of his room, though, revealed more of the stuff scattered across his bed.

Sans looked behind him and groaned at the sight of his ruined pillow. It looked as though he had shredded it in his sleep and accidentally inhaled some of the resulting fluff as he tossed and turned, no doubt contributing to his nightmares.

Bone tired and only finally beginning to overcome the shakes that racked his body, Sans flopped back onto his mattress and focused on breathing for a time. The slow in and out of his breath steadily calmed him, and nearly lulled the seraphim back to sleep…. but sudden recollection of events that morning at breakfast snapped him directly back into wakefulness.

Sans turned his head and looked at the clock on the nightstand from where he lay and winced. Several hours had passed since he'd first laid down, meaning Papyrus had been looking after Frisk on his own for some time. It wasn't that the seraphim didn't think his brother capable, but it did occur to him that he'd likely scared the ever-living hell out of the little girl and then left Pap to deal with the fallout by himself.

The thought brought the memory of Frisk's frightened, tearful expression to the forefront of Sans' mind and made him wince again. It had hardly registered when he'd first seen it, but in retrospect he felt awful for being the source of so much distress for the child. She'd had no idea he was hurt; it was his own damn fault for not telling her. His stupid pride had gotten the best of him, and that left a bitter taste in the seraphim's mouth as he pushed himself upright and rolled out of bed.

Even veiled, Sans' left wing was consumed by a fierce ache that throbbed painfully with every move of his left arm and shoulder. It was a bearable pain, at least. Worse than the usual, but nothing like when Frisk had first grabbed him.

The seraphim glanced at himself in the mirror and made a face at what he saw there. His clothes were a creased mess, and the lines under his eye sockets were even worse than usual. Pap would know just how bad a 'rest' he'd had a glance, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it short of just getting right back into bed. Still, at least Frisk wouldn't have to bear the guilt of seeing what her actions had wrought on him.

Sans huffed a little, then gave up the ghost and left his room. He paused in the doorway and listened, but heard no sign of Papyrus and Frisk, and was unsure if this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, not waking up to screaming mayhem was always a bonus; on the other, the oppressive silence that lingered in the house set the seraphim's teeth on edge.

Despite this, he didn't rush downstairs - he first stopped in the bathroom to wash his face in a half-hearted attempt to freshen up for Papyrus' sake. It didn't help his looks much, but it did make Sans feel a little better, which he chalked up for a win before heading downstairs.

He reached the living room, and still there was no hint of the house's other occupants. An anxious something whispered all of the seraphim's worst fears to him from the pit of his chest, but Sans resolutely pushed it down. When he had checked every corner, the angel made for the front door and put on his shoes before stepping outside.

Here, at last, he found some hint of his brother and their guest, which loosened the tightness in his chest a little.

The once pristine blanket of snow that covered the front yard had gone through a mighty upheaval beneath the boots of two very energetic people frolicking through it while Sans slept. A smile finally tugged at the seraphim's mouth as he observed the wreckage of what had once been a truly mighty snow fort before half of it had been demolished by something quite large falling on it.

Papyrus' doing, no doubt.

Sans picked his way through the snow to the shed, but paused again when he happened upon the first of Papyrus' rudimentary attempts at a snow angel. To all appearances, his brother had simply spread his wings and flopped back into the snow, leaving a perfect imprint of his body, the wingspan of which looked to have obliterated Frisk's own, much smaller, snow angel. Further along, it looked as though the little girl had given the archangel a tutorial on the proper technique, and several more traditional snow angels made their appearance. The final products were arranged side-by-side near the shed door. The size discrepancy between the two finally succeeded in drawing a chuckle from the seraphim as he admired their handiwork for a moment before entering the shed.

It was quiet inside, but not the kind of quiet that indicated emptiness. Rather, it was the relative silence of someone trying very hard to keep the noise down while still getting work done.

Papyrus glanced around when the door opened, and his long face lit up when he saw Sans closing it carefully behind him. The archangel was seated on a stool in front of the long workbench he had constructed along one wall of the shed, one foot propped up on a rung of his seat, the other leg stretched out at full length to one side. His wings were nowhere in sight, leaving him free to move about without fear of knocking over any of the delicate little mechanisms arranged before him on the tabletop.

Sans lifted a hand in greeting as he approached, but paused when he spotted the reason for the air of restful quiet in a shed that was normally so full of noise (and the occ asional explosion).

The dog bed they had taken to keeping in the shed for the Annoying Dog was currently occupied, by more than just the furry moocher in question - Frisk had joined her new friend in its less than roomy accommodations, and appeared to be deeply asleep. Together they formed a sort of dog/child yin yang symbol as they curled around one another to squeeze into the limited space provided. Frisk's legs dangled partially off the cushion, but she didn't appear to mind.

The girl's crown of golden flowers had returned to its place on her head, though it had slid down over her eyes in her sleep, making it look as though she were wearing a particularly fetching blindfold. The frilly pink tutu around her waist was new, and combined with the crown gave her a rather princessly air.

Smiling a little to himself at the picture the pair made, Sans crouched next to Frisk and gently pushed the crown up out of her face. She didn't so much as twitch, but the Annoying dog eyed him sidelong for a moment before flashing its bright, white teeth, tail twitching irritably. The seraphim's brows shot up at what was clearly a warning to back off from the animal. When Sans withdrew his hand from Frisk's brow, the dog closed its eyes again and settled back into its nap as though nothing had happened.

Torn between intrigued and oddly hurt by Dog's treatment of him, Sans pushed back to his feet and went to his brother's work bench. He leaned lazily against it as he murmured, "i think dog's got a _bone_ to pick with me."

Papyrus, who had gone back to his work while his older brother inspected their guests remarked, "WELL, IT'LL HAVE QUITE A SELECTION TO CHOOSE FROM."

Sans snorted and twisted to see what Papyrus was working on. Looking didn't actually answer his question; all the seraphim could tell was that it appeared to be some sort of pressure activated trigger mechanism, which the taller skeleton was currently tightening with a screwdriver smaller than Sans' index finger.

"HOLD THIS, PLEASE," Papyrus requested, motioning to a round metal plate in the center. Sans did as he was told and watched while his brother finished doing… whatever he was doing, then sat back with a satisfied little sigh of a job well done. "THAT'S GOOD, THANK YOU." Before the seraphim could even say 'you're welcome,' the archangel asked, "HOW ARE YOU FEELING?"

"fine," Sans answered immediately, though he did not meet his brother's eyes. Instead, he feigned great interest in Papyrus' project.

The archangel huffed in disbelief at this answer, but his older brother said nothing in return. Papyrus knew those lines etched into Sans' pale features far too well. He was far from fine; in fact, he looked like shit. Not that he would every say as much, of course.

On the other hand, and this _was_ surprising, Sans was there with him in the shed only a few hours after what had likely been an episode of severe dissociation. While his brother was looking very rough, the fact that he was looking anything at _all_ was quite remarkable.

That being the case, Papyrus decided not to push the subject for fear of scaring the seraphim off, or at least trying his depleted patience and sending him back into hiding for goodness knew how long. Sans could disappear for days at a time when things got bad, and reacted poorly when Papyrus tried to intervene and drag him back home. Two centuries of dealing with his scarred sibling had taught the archangel tact and stealth as he'd resorted to simply tracking his brother down every so often to make sure he was still in one piece until he was ready to come home again.

And he always did. Eventually.

"how is she?" Sans asked, his gaze on Frisk once more, an unreadable expression on his face.

Papyrus rotated on his stool so he could look at the little girl and her fuzzy companion without straining his neck. "BETTER," he replied, though added, "BUT YOU SCARED HER, SANS."

The seraphim's shoulders went up and he looked in danger of disappearing into the depths of his hoodie when he replied, "i know."

The silence stretched between them for a time, and Papyrus watched his brother's expression shift to something full of pain and self loathing. Knowing Sans was in danger of disappearing on him again, the archangel reached out and placed his large hand on the other skeleton's shoulder, startling him into looking up at him.

"JUST APOLOGIZE. I ALREADY EXPLAINED WHAT HAPPENED. SHE UNDERSTANDS," Papyrus told him, tone reassuring as he smiled comfortingly down at his brother.

Sans dropped his gaze and shifted uncomfortably before grudgingly asking the question that had been plaguing him. "what if she doesn't look at me the same, pap? i scared her bad..." he murmured, suddenly self-conscious about how one little girl's opinion had come to matter so profoundly to him.

He'd sworn to see this child through the trials for the sake of his friendship with the seraphim Toriel, but somehow he'd become so thoroughly wrapped up around Frisk's little finger that the prospect of her no longer _wanting_ him to brought on an anxiety normally reserved for the wee hours of the morning when he woke from the worst and most vivid of his nightmares. Her trust in him was like a balm to his tattered soul, and the fact it might no longer be afforded to him by the child currently sleeping in his shed cut him up inside.

Papyrus leveled a canny look at his brother and arched one brow before saying, "THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU, SANS."

The seraphim gave a start at Papyrus' words, the truth of them making him sigh and the anxiety that had been building in his chest drain away as abruptly as it had arrived. He was right. What was done was done. All he could do now was apologize and hope for the best. Sans shot his brother a weak smile. "yeah, you're right. thanks, pap."

Papyrus only waved him off and watched as the seraphim approached Frisk and Dog again. The Annoying Dog opened an eye and watched him come, but this time, it did not growl when Sans reached out to Frisk.

"frisk? time to wake up, sleeping beauty," Sans said, voice low and gentle as he gave one of her narrow shoulders a light shake.

The child stirred, then sighed and stretched, unfolding herself with a sleepy grunt so her limbs dangled off the sides of the dog bed and nearly caught Dog in the snout.

Frisk yawned so widely her jaw popped, and Sans remarked, "gonna catch flies like that."

"Ew," the girl grumbled and rubbed at her eyes, still clearly more asleep than awake.

"ew," Sans agreed as he poked one of her cheeks with a boney finger.

She giggled and muffled another yawn as she pushed his hand away. After a moment, though, his presence seemed to fully register, and just as Sans had feared, Frisk went stiff where she lay, eyes flying open in surprise.

The seraphim flinched visibly and opened his mouth to apologize, only to be beaten to the point by the little girl before him. "Sans, I'm _so sorry,_ " Frisk said as she scrambled upright, nearly headbutting him in the process so he was forced to reach out and steady her before the girl knocked them both over.

"kid," he began, voice unexpectedly tight at the worried, unhappy expression on her small, round face.

"I didn't know you were hurt, I _swear,_ " she insisted anxiously, ignoring Dog as it snuffled and wagged beside her, clearly upset by her own discomfort. "Pap said you hurt your wing a long, long time ago and me grabbing it _really_ hurt you," she continued, tears springing to her eyes as she got to her feet, hands twisting at the hem of her sweater in a way that wreaked havoc on the lavender fabric. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.

Sans might have laughed if it hadn't been so sad. Sad and, frankly, ridiculous. Here each of them was, fearing what the other would think of them in the wake of a stupid accident brought on by him, the adult in the situation, not wanting to admit his own physical shortcomings.

"quit the blubbering," Sans huffed lightly, throat still tight, but a smile on his face as he reached up and mopped her tears away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "you'll make the whales jealous."

Distracted, the girl's eyes went wide and she asked, "There's _whales_ down here?"

The seraphim blinked, then laughed. "well i mean… there's always whales _somewhere_ , right?" Frisk huffed, but before she could say anything else, Sans placed a hand on each of her shoulders and said, "you don't have to apologize, kiddo. it was my own stupid fault for not telling you in the first place so we could avoid an accident." Again she opened her mouth to say something, but the seraphim only gave her a gentle shake and said, "it's alright. now give me a hug and let's forget it ever happened."

Frisk hesitated, tears threatening at the corner of her eyes again before she gave in and threw her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder and sniffled when he returned the gesture and, acting purely on instinct, rocked her gently back and forth.

"It's alright," Sans repeated softly, heart aching as the girl trembled in his arms, slender hands knotting themselves in the fabric of his hood. "we're alright," he murmured, relief easing the pain not only in his chest, but his veiled wing as well.

Pretending he was working on his switch mechanism rather than covertly watching his brother and Frisk like he _actually_ was, Papyrus felt dangerously close to tearing up himself. The sight of the tension slipping out of Sans' shoulders as he soothed the tearful child in his arms was a sight to behold. The seraphim had been so wrapped up in his own pain for so long that it bordered on the miraculous to see him reaching out to comfort another.

Not that Papyrus could blame him. The emotional and physical burden that his brother had born over the last two hundred years was extreme, and left Sans with little energy for anything else. It was, the archangel had come to learn over time, how pain worked. It was a black hole into which a person's every reserve was gradually pulled, out of which nothing was returned beyond a continued, though limited, existence.

If energy were currency, Sans was dead broke most days.

Something about Frisk, though, allowed the seraphim to tap into reserves he never realized he still possessed somewhere deep down where the pain had not yet reached. Papyrus would be lying if he tried to say he wasn't a _little_ jealous of the child for being the one to inspire this change in his brother. He'd never admit it, of course, nor would he hold it against her out of some selfish desire to be the one that helped his brother for the sake of his own ego.

 _Why Frisk specifically_ was a question that still lingered in the archangel's heart, though. The more he had thought on the matter, the more Papyrus wondered if it was simply because she was one of the few people in the Underground worse off than Sans himself. While she didn't battle with chronic pain the way the seraphim did, she _was_ a blind child lost in a world with which she had no familiarity with and no hope of surviving, let alone escaping, without help.

It was clear that her plight had managed to strike a chord with Sans, even if he hadn't quite identified that fact himself. One might think it came down to one damaged, hopeless person finding relief in the presence of the one individual even more hopeless than themselves, but Papyrus didn't believe so. If anything, he felt it came down to Sans finally finding the one person in all the Underground he might still save after his failure to prevent the Fall, and resolving to do so.

Papyrus just hoped he didn't get hurt in the process. A dark part of himself that the archangel didn't often entertain suspected Sans would go to dangerous lengths for a chance at what he would perceive as redemption.

"so, what kind of trouble have you been getting into?" Sans asked Frisk, drawing Papyrus' attention back to the present. They were both smiling once more, which was a relief, even if that worry still lingered at the back of the archangel's mind.

"We built a snow fort and had a snowball fight!" Frisk said, brightening immediately at the opportunity to relate their day.

"i saw," Sans said with a low chuckle as he sat back on the floor and rested his weight on his hands. "what was left of it anyways."

"Papyrus tripped over Dog and fell on our fort," the girl explained, wrinkling her nose as she turned in the direction she knew the archangel still sat and stuck her tongue out at him.

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" Papyrus said, throwing his hands in the air. "IT WAS A CLEVER PLOY BY THAT WRETCHED ANIMAL. IT KNEW I WAS WINNING AND IT SABOTAGED ME!"

"sabotage, huh? that's a new trick for a dog," Sans mused as he held out one hand towards the animal in question. It sniffed his fingertips and gave them a brief lick before turning its attention back to Frisk as she reached out and began to stroke its velveteen ears.

Frisk laughed. "You're just mad you lost, Pap."

"I DIDN'T LOSE! I WAS ALMOST BURIED ALIVE!" the tall skeleton grumbled. Something seemed to occur to him, though, and he sat up straight as he said, "BUT SPEAKING OF NEW TRICKS, SANS! DID YOU KNOW THAT THE DOG WILL BRING _BACK_ BONES IF YOU THROW THEM?"

There was another crow of amusement from the little girl, inspiring Sans' grin to widen. "I told you it's called _fetch._ Dogs love fetch! It's like, their favorite game," Frisk said with all the authority of an expert. Which, to be fair, she was compared to them.

"fascinating," Sans said with a chuckled, then added, "guess we really are a couple of _bone_ heads for not realizing that sooner."

"YOUR JOKES ARE NOT IN THE LEAST BIT _HUMERUS_ , SANS," Papyrus countered, and grinned broadly when he was rewarded with a laugh from the seraphim.

"What's so funny?" Frisk asked, nose wrinkled in her confusion.

"the humerus is one of the bones in your arm," Sans explained as he poked her lightly in the bicep.

"Oh," she said, "I thought humorous meant funny, though?"

"IT'S SPELLED DIFFERENTLY," Papyrus clarified patiently.

"hence the joke, princess," he teased and tugged on the frills of her new skirt. Frisk stuck her tongue out at him and tugged her skirt out of his grip. "where'd you get that, anyways?" Sans asked curiously.

"Dog found it buried in the snow!"

"SOMEWHERE BEHIND THE SHED I THINK," Papyrus continued. "I WASHED IT," he added with a grimace.

"It's super great for dancing," Frisk declared, clearly delighted by her new fashion statement as she jumped to her feet. "Watch!" she commanded as she hurried over to Papyrus and reached for him. "Twirl me please, Pap, like we practiced earlier," the child begged as she found his hand and tugged on it in an attempt to stir him from his seat.

For a brief and exceedingly rare moment, Papyrus looked _tired_ , and Sans nearly laughed again at the subtle sag in his brother's broad shoulders. The archangel rallied quickly though, not wanting to disappoint their small friend.

"ALRIGHT," he agreed with a chuckle as he gained his feet and led the girl to a cleared center of floor and took both her hands in his.

It was a good thing, Sans thought, that Papyrus' arms were so very long. As it was, he nearly had to bend at the waist just to dance with the child, who beamed as he led her through a few steps, then released one of her hands and lifted the other, guiding her into a graceful twirl. Beaming, frilled pink skirt flaring in that perfect way the very best tutus had, Frisk spun on toe three times before dropping into a neat curtsy.

Papyrus applauded and Sans quickly joined in, smiling when the girl straightened, a little flush as she neatened her skirt happily. "Thank you, thank you," she said with a dramatic flourish of one hand.

"snow forts, snow fights, snow angels, dancing… what _didn't_ you kids get up to while I was napping?" Sans wondered aloud as he got to his feet and dusted himself off.

Papyrus glanced down at Frisk, who brightened noticeably at the question, then said, "We didn't make spaghetti yet!"

"I WANTED TO MAKE IT AGES AGO BUT FRISK INSISTED ON WAITING," the archangel said with a huff and a careless wave of one gloved hand.

"Sans would be mad if you tried to burn the house down again," Frisk pointed out, sounding very much as though they were rehashing an old argument.

Before his brother could reply and the discussion could go circular, Sans cut in. "i know you have a _burning_ need to make spaghetti, pap, but the kid is right. you're really not supposed to flambe red sauce, you know." He grinned at his brother's affronted expression, then waved him off before he could complain. "come on, we'll all make it together."

The archangel huffed, but agreed readily enough after a moment's thought. Sans actually taking an interest in food for its own sake, rather than merely something to keep him going til the next day, was always a thing to be encouraged. "OH ALRIGHT, IF YOU INSIST. I SUPPOSE YOU CAN BE MY SOUS CHEF."

"Watch out, Pap, Sans might _sue_ you if you set anything on fire again!" Frisk chimed in with a giggle as they headed for the door.

Sans laughed, surprised by the girl's quick wordplay. "Nice one, kiddo," he said, and when she held out one hand for a high-five, he followed through with a satisfying slap.

Papyrus sighed and shut the shed door behind them with a soft click.

XXXX

"Hey, Sans?"

If the seraphim had possessed skin, he probably would have jumped right out of it when Frisk's shy tone reached him from the shadows outside the open bathroom door. Sans pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth before he could choke on it and looked around for the girl.

It was no wonder she'd managed to sneak up on him. Outside the ring of light cast by the bulbs over the mirror, Frisk lay flat on the stairs, chin propped up on the edge of the top step. "yeah?" he asked, voice sounding vaguely strangled when he finally managed to speak. Papyrus had already gone to bed after wishing them both a good night and making sure Frisk was comfortable on the sofa. Sans himself had done the same, but apparently something was still wanting.

"Um," the girl began, then paused awkwardly while the seraphim spit his mouthful of toothpaste into the sink before blurting out, "Willyoutuckmein?"

Mouth still ringed with white foam, Sans blinked. "huh?"

Frisk huffed, exasperated. "Will you tuck me in?" she repeated more slowly as she fidgeted where she lay sprawled on the stairs. So much so, in fact, that she began to slip down and had to grab at the top step to keep from sliding out of sight.

He'd heard the words, but even after mulling them over while he cleaned off his face, they still didn't make much sense to Sans. "you want me to what?" he asked, confused but amused by the girl's discomfort.

"Tuck. Me. In," she repeated a third time, clearly thinking he was teasing her in some way.

"yeah i _heard_ you," Sans said with an expressive roll of his eyes as he left the bathroom and approached the stairs. He reached down and tugged lightly at her hands until she allowed him to help her to her feet. "i have no idea what that means, kid."

Frisk shot him an incredulous look, not for the first time, and likely not for the last. "You don't know how to tuck someone in?" she asked, disbelief writ clear across her features. "Good thing you're not a dad," she mused mostly to herself.

Her words hadn't been cruelly meant, simply a child's innocent observation, but they still cut through Sans' heart like a knife.

Once upon a time, he could have been someone's father. Would have been. _Should have been-_

The seraphim took a deep breath and carefully pushed the thoughts away, his resentment towards Asgore closer to the surface than usual after the bitter morning he'd spent recalling the day his former Commander had robbed him of everything his life might have been.

"Well, I'll teach you, I guess," Frisk said with a sniff before taking Sans' hand and half-dragging him back down the stairs into the livingroom where they had set her up on the couch once more.

Since the day had been more than half gone by the time Sans had finally come out of his room, it had been decided they'd delay until the next morning so they could have a fresh start. This had suited everyone just fine, though the seraphim detected an undercurrent of dread to everything they had done for the rest of the evening from eating (mercifully unburnt) spaghetti, to watching tv, to building more snowmen in the front yard until the cold had driven them inside for hot chocolate and leftovers.

Frisk had appeared just as intent as ever to continue with her mission to return to the surface, but Sans had a feeling it wasn't just wishful thinking on himself and his brother's part when they thought that she seemed reluctant to leave Snowdin. She hadn't objected in the slightest when Sans had suggested they stay another night, after all.

The girl bounced up onto the sofa with uncanny accuracy, having apparently memorized just how many steps it was from there to the base of the stairs in the short time she'd stayed with them. For some reason the thought made Sans want to smile, if only in a melancholy way.

Frisk pushed her blanket at him, and when he'd taken it, flopped back onto the cushions and made herself comfortable against the spare pillow they'd dug up for her. "Okay, now put the blanket over me," she said, grinning up at him as she lay straight as a board.

A huff of amusement escaped the seraphim, but he complied, barely resisting the temptation to cover her face for the sake of a laugh. "now what, princess?" he asked.

"Now you gotta tuck it in around me so it doesn't fall off while I sleep," Frisk explained primly. Sans had expected her to object to his new nickname for her, but counter to his expectations, she rather seemed to like it.

Never could tell with some girls.

Sans did as he was told, bending at the waist as he tucked the blanket in around her feet and then moved his way up to her shoulders, smiling to himself. "i used to do this for pap all the time when our parents were out," he mused aloud. "didn't realize people had come up with a name for it."

"When was the last time you tucked Pap in?" Frisk asked, smiling at the thought.

"last night," Sans replied and laughed at the look of surprise that crossed the girl's face. "what, thought you were special or something?" he teased lightly as he finished.

Frisk didn't answer his question, but wiggled a little and said, "Hey, you did it too tight, I can't move!"

The seraphim hummed thoughtfully as he examined his handiwork. "picky," he mused as he grinned and loosened the blanket a little so the girl could move. "better?"

Frisk wiggled experimentally, then smiled. "Yep," she replied.

"so glad i could accomodate your majesty," he joked lightly as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "sleep tight, kiddo."

"Hey wait!" she objected, drawing the seraphim up short. Frisk tugged one hand out from under the blanket and tapped her forehead with a finger as she informed him, "Grandma always kissed me on the forehead. It's part of tucking someone in!"

Sans' brows went up, but the invocation of the girl's grandmother forestalled any teasing he might have done otherwise. Knowing it was a sensitive subject, the angel just huffed lightly, then turned and bent at the waist so he could brush his lips against her brow.

"we checked all the boxes on the bedtime list yet?" he asked, tone amused when he straightened once more.

Frisk looked thoughtful for a moment, as though going over an actual checklist before nodding. "Yep!"

"does that mean i'm a tuck-in pro now?" the seraphim joked as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

The girl sniffed dismissively. "Your tucking technique needs work. Grandma never tucked me in too tight."

Sans rolled his eyes but smiled. "well, there's always tomorrow i guess."

"Practice makes perfect," Frisk said and grinned.

The seraphim was just about to turn and head for the stairs and his own bed when the girl spoke once more, forestalling his exit yet again.

"Hey, Sans?"

The hesitation in the girl's tone made Sans glance back at her, a frown tugging at his mouth. "yeah?"

"Does your wing still hurt?" she asked, voice small as she threatened to disappear beneath the edge of the covers in fear of his answer.

Sans almost replied automatically, as he normally would have done, but caught himself before he could. Frisk was a canny child, and he could tell it had taken her a lot to ask, so he took a moment to actually consider his answer before speaking.

"it's back to normal," he said eventually, and it was true. It still ached of course, but that was far and away better than it had been that morning, or even when he'd first dragged himself out of his room after the fact. "not any worse than usual at least."

This answer inspired a thoughtful look from the child, which never ceased to amuse and intrigue Sans, considering she kept her eyes near closed the majority of the time.

"Does it _always_ hurt?" she asked eventually.

Sans shifted uncomfortably where he stood, but again decided that honesty was the best policy. Hiding his injury had caused the accident in the first place, after all. She might as well know the truth of it. "yes," he answered, and experienced an unexpected pang in his stomach at the little frown that furrowed Frisk's brow.

"Can't a doctor fix it?" she asked as she fiddled absently with the hem of her blanket, fingers plucking at a stray thread.

Sans sighed gently and settled on the edge of the sofa by her knees. "no," the seraphim replied, then continued, "i've seen healers at the capitol about it. None of them were able to do anything for me." His own frown deepened at the memory, but he could feel no resentment for his fellow angels. They _had_ tried their best for him, after all. His injury, however, had persisted in the face of all their assembled magic, no matter what spell they wove over him.

For all his immense power, Sans himself had no talent at all for healing others. The slightest of scratches refused to mend for him while lesser angels easily restored ravaged flesh and cured diseases with the wave of a hand. It was a skill he'd always envied, though there were few who knew as much.

In destruction, however, Sans had always been a most gifted pupil.

His answer clearly upset Frisk as her lower lip poked out unhappily at this news. "Why can't they fix it?" she asked, and it seemed to Sans that she was unimpressed with the local healers, which drew a smile back to his face.

"i don't know," he admitted, then ruffled the girl's hair once more and said, "don't think too hard on it, princess. i'm fine, i promise."

And it was true. He really did have no idea why the healers were unable to fix his ruined wing. Terrible as the injury had been, there was little short of amputation that an angel wasn't capable of recovering from given time and a little outside magical assistance. Why Sans' wing had resisted all attempts to make it whole again was a mystery no one had proved able to solve.

Frisk huffed unhappily, but said no more on the subject as Sans got up and headed for the stairs. "Night, Sans," she said and pulled the blanket up under her chin as she rolled over onto her side, face to the back of the sofa.

The seraphim paused at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the railing as he looked back at her for a moment, then smiled and said, "night, frisk. sleep tight."

XXXX

The obnoxious blare of an alarm woke Sans from an uncommonly restful slumber with a start. The clock across the room wasn't normally set to wake him, so it took the seraphim's sleep fogged brain a moment to recall why it was today of all days. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt a need to wake at any particular hour…

Sans blinked blearily up at the ceiling and remembered. Frisk was leaving for Waterfall today to face her third trial, and he was her guide.

The angel groaned and rolled over to bury his face in the wad of blankets and sheets his bedding had been twisted into and nearly drifted right back off again. Unfortunately for him, he knew himself too well, and the alarm was a painfully obnoxious one he could not possibly ignore for long. He could sleep through a lot, but that ear-splitting siren shriek was _not_ one of them.

Giving up, Sans dragged himself upright, stumbled over to his dresser, and hit the alarm button so hard the neon number display flickered.

The seraphim yawned wide enough that his jaw popped as he stretched his arms up over his head before letting them drop again. He glanced at the mirror on the wall briefly and winced at what he saw. As per usual, he was a rumpled mess and the lines around his eyes weren't any better for the sleep he'd finally managed to get under his belt.

Deciding his appearance wasn't worth considering any more today than it was any other day, Sans went to his door and pulled it open, intent on brushing his teeth before going downstairs to wake Frisk so he wouldn't have to fight her for the bathroom. To his surprise, though, something blocked his way, making the angel pause, one hand still on the doorknob.

A neatly folded pile of clothing lay on the floor at his feet, but when he reached down to pick up and inspect the articles, he didn't actually recognize any of it. On the other hand, it clearly wasn't Papyrus', as it was all far too small for him. Apparently his younger brother had decided he needed some new clothes and taken steps to make that happen before he'd gotten up that morning.

With a bemused smile spreading on his face, Sans stepped back into his room and closed the door again before rifling through the pile of new things for closer inspection. Well, as new as clothes got in the Underground. So many things they (and everyone else) owned had been found washed up in what everyone had termed the 'dump' in Waterfall. Still, these were in good shape and consisted of a pair of black pants, a pale blue hoodie, and a jean jacket Sans would have sworn went out of style on the surface a decade or more before.

Knowing Papyrus would complain if he didn't at least try the stuff on, Sans stripped off his track pants and tattered t-shirt and donned the new clothes. Luckily (or perhaps not - Papyrus _did_ have an eye for these things) everything fit perfectly, and despite being more fitted than what he'd allowed himself to become accustomed to, it was all quite comfortable. A little considering noise escaped the seraphim as he looked at himself in the mirror again and found what he saw there now a little more agreeable than he had before changing.

The change in wardrobe didn't change the fact that he looked eternally sleep deprived (and to be fair, he _was_ ), but he did at least look little more put together and capable of functioning normally like everyone else around him.

"fake it til you make it, i guess," he mused quietly to himself as he turned to one side, and then the other before deciding he would surely pass muster even in Papyrus' eyes.

Satisfied with the wardrobe swap, Sans went to his closet and pulled out one of the few pairs of shoes the mostly empty space held. They were white and blue high-tops, more comfortable for walking than the heavier boots he tended to wear around Snowdin. He nearly pulled them on without bothering to change his socks, but the idea of starting off on a long journey with dirty socks struck a sour chord with the seraphim. He was decked out in new clothes and some of his least tarnished shoes, he might as well go the distance and put on clean socks while he was at it.

Sans stripped off his old ones and tossed them carelessly aside before going to his dresser and rummaging around in the top drawer for a fresh pair. As he felt around the far reaches of the drawer for a set that were at least the same color, the seraphim's hand brushed against something small and hard that was most definitely _not_ a sock. Brow furrowed in confusion, Sans abandoned his search and grabbed the foreign object instead.

As soon as his fingers closed around it, though, he knew precisely what it was he had found and tried very hard to release it, to leave it to collect dust in the far reaches of his unmatched sock drawer in peace where he didn't have to think about it. Best to let it remain in the dark where it would be safe, and where _he_ would be safe from _it._

In spite of his intentions, Sans drew his hand from the drawer without releasing his unwanted prize. Feeling as though someone else were controlling his every movement, the seraphim turned his hand over and unclasped his fingers, revealing the small, battered wooden box that rested unobtrusively in his palm. It couldn't have weighed more than a few ounces, and yet Sans' arm shook with the effort of holding it.

It was a long time since he'd last pulled the box out into the light of day to examine, and it looked more worn than ever. Just like him, really. He supposed it'd been a rough two hundred years for both of them.

Knowing he couldn't put it back without looking inside according to the awful precedent he had set for himself with this painful tradition, Sans decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. Best to treat it like a band aid, just rip it off and have done with it rather than drawing things out…

The little spring hinge that held it shut squeaked when he pried the lid carefully open to reveal a faded red velvet interior and a band of engraved silver.

The ring wasn't really silver, Sans knew as stared at it for an interminable minute before hesitantly, _reverently_ plucking it from the cushioned slot in which it rested. It was white gold and worked over with impossibly tiny, intricate Enochian runes for love, devotion, and unity. The seraphim was intimately familiar with every curve of every symbol but, as was his tradition, he traced a finger over them all as though seeing them for the first time.

The band wasn't a normal ring; not a full circle, but a 'u' shape to allow the wearer to tighten it as needed. A clever solution to an uncommon problem. After all, any ring large enough to fit over one of Sans' knuckles would inevitably be too loose to sit comfortably on his finger. It had been over a century since he'd last worn the band, and the seraphim still couldn't bring himself to do so now.

Still, as he ran his fingers over the familiar band he couldn't help but think of its twin, wherever it may be. His ring sat heavy in his palm, though not so heavily as the one he'd given Ellie had sat the day he'd finally asked her to marry him.

XXXX

"got a little something on you there, sugar."

On the steps below where he perched at the edge of the bakery's roof, Ellie yelped in surprise and dropped her keys before she had a chance to lock up. One hand went to her chest as her head snapped up to look up at him, brown eyes wide with alarm. Sans grinned at her, then laughed outright when she gasped, "Lord Sans!" in a chiding tone.

Wings veiled, the seraphim rolled off the edge of the roof and dropped onto the stoop at her side with a low laugh. Before she could swat him for his prank, he ducked down to pick up her keys and offered them back to her. "sorry, miss ellie. terrible habit, i know."

"You know because I tell you so every time you do it!" the woman objected with an incredulous laugh as she took back her keys and locked the front door of the bakery.

"someone has to keep me on the straight and narrow," he said slyly and leaned one shoulder against the frame of the door, head canted to one side as he watched her.

Even after a day of hard work in her family's bakery, the woman was as beautiful as ever. More beautiful, probably, the lovestruck portion of Sans' brain thought as his gaze traced over features he had long since memorized. Her chestnut colored hair was pulled back from her face in a twist, though a few stubborn curls had sprung loose over the course of her day to frame her fair, freckled face, and trail at the nape of her neck. The seraphim longed to brush his gloved fingers along those tempting tendrils, though he knew better than to try, particularly somewhere so exposed to the eyes of others.

He'd only seen her hair loose a handful of times in the two years he'd known her, and he loathed the current fashion that demanded women wear it in such severe styles at all hours of the day. Ellie's hair was naturally curly, granting her what she deemed a 'terrible mane' that was a struggle to tame, though Sans adored it.

Then again, he adored _her,_ so it was all part and parcel in the end.

"So, what brings you down here to frighten a poor working woman on such a fine evening, Lord Sans?" Ellie asked when she'd finished locking up, a teasing smile on the sweet curve of her full lips as she turned to look him in the eye.

While not petite, the woman was quite short at only five foot one considering she was in her late twenties already. Still, that gave her four inches over him. Not that he minded; Sans had gotten used to people being taller than him long ago. Ellie's build was curvy under her sage green dress, though it was probably impolite of him to have noticed as much knowing how uptight humans could be about these things.

"well," Sans began as he pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of his breeches and used it to brush some stray flour from her cheek, "i was in the area, so i thought i'd see if you'd like to take a walk with me," he said, trying very hard to play it cool as a blush rose in Ellie's cheeks at his attention. The seraphim felt hyper aware of the ring burning a hole in the inside pocket of his leather jerkin, and it was a struggle to act normal.

"I should really be getting home," Ellie said, though there was clear hesitation in her words as she lingered on the front steps of the bakery with him.

"please?" Sans asked as he offered her his arm hopefully, soul constricting in his chest at the possibility of her saying no just when he'd finally worked up the nerve to spring his all important question. If he didn't do it tonight, who knew when he'd manage to bring himself to try again. "i promise on my honor that i'll have you home safe and sound before dark," he leaned in and said with a conspiratorial smile that made the woman laugh.

"Your honor? What about mine?" she asked lightly. "An unmarried man and woman off walking by themselves unchaperoned… people are bound to talk."

The seraphim flashed her a dangerous smile and said, "my dear miss ellie, anyone who dares question the state of your honor will answer to me _personally_."

Eliya flushed again but laughed all the same and caved to his request. She took his arm and Sans felt himself go dangerously lightheaded when she smiled at him. "Well, how can a lady possibly argue with that? A seraphim taking personal responsibility for my honor… surely that's something even the most gossipy of spinsters can't question."

"well, i wouldn't go that far," Sans mused as they went down the steps and set off along the road. "nothing stops those old biddies talking long."

The woman on his arm made feigned a scandalized gasp and bumped her shoulder lightly against his, making them both break out into laughter. "You're shameless, my Lord."

"i am," he agreed with a solemn nod. "which is why i'm going to ask you for that sweet bun i know you're secreting in your apron pocket," he added and pointed at the apron in question.

The woman rolled her eyes but produced the bun without objection. "Honestly, sometimes I think you only call on me for my baking," she joked.

"not at all," Sans replied as he accepted the gift and took a bite. The seraphim relished the soft, chewy texture and its delicate sweetness, then swallowed before continuing, "it is, however, a definite perk."

"Shameless," Ellie repeated as she tried, and failed, not to smile.

They walked for several blocks until they reached a small park and turned in to stroll among the trees and the flowers that still bloomed there.

Together they came to a stop beside a fountain and Sans turned to the woman on his arm. "i have to admit, miss ellie, i wasn't exactly truthful with you earlier."

"Oh?" she asked, arching one of her dark brows at him, curiosity clear in her soft brown eyes. "How so, my Lord?"

"i didn't call on you in hopes you'd only walk with me. i'd actually like to take you up the mountain to show you something i found in the clearing below the temple."

Ellie blinked and canted her head to one side as she asked, "What did you find?"

"it's… really something that's better shown than told," Sans hedged, hoping his offer was vague enough to be intriguing without putting her off.

She hummed thoughtfully a moment, though the slight purse of her lips and the brightness in her eyes told the seraphim he'd landed her hook, line, and sinker. She'd always been a curious creature, and that wasn't about to change now, apparently.

"Will we fly there?" she asked, trying and failing not to sound excited by the prospect.

Sans grinned and, with a practiced roll of his shoulders, unveiled his vast, white wings. "if you don't object," he said, knowing very well the woman would do no such thing.

Ellie fidgeted in place for a moment before finally caving and saying, "Oh, alright. You know me too well, my Lord," she mused with a rueful smile as her eyes trailed admiringly along the breadth of his wings. Her gaze met his then, and her eyes softened as she observed, "Though, I'm glad you're the only one to find me so easy to read."

"easy to read?" Sans repeated as he swept his wing up over Ellie to keep from bumping into her as he turned and crouched to allow her access to his back. "my dear, you are as easy to read as an upside down book in a mirror," he remarked. "i'm simply a remarkably good guesser."

Ellie chuckled and approached the seraphim so she could lean over him and loop her arms around his neck from behind. Sans had to fight the urge to shudder when she pressed against him and remarked gently, "There you go not giving yourself enough credit again, Lord Sans."

The seraphim made a noncommittal noise in response, which made her chuckle again and forced him to focus very hard on the task at hand. Flying with her on his back was something they had done many times before, though generally only when there was no one else about to keep the gossip to a minimum. At this point, though, Sans didn't care _who_ saw. If he had his way, Ellie was going to be his wife and the nosey old folks could eat their hats for all he'd care what they said about the pair of them then.

The angel spread his wings out wide and pushed himself upright, hands going up to support the woman on his back in preparation for takeoff.

"Lord Sans!" Ellie objected, and he could practically hear the way she was blushing in her voice. "Your hands!"

"oops," Sans said innocently with a smile that was anything but as he shifted his hands down closer to her knees.

Before Ellie could say anything in response, though, the seraphim leaped into the air and propelled them skyward with one mighty downsweep of his wings. The woman's startled yelp at their sudden departure from the earth rapidly transformed into a delighted laugh as they soared up into the evening sky, bathed in the soft orange and gold hues of the sun as it neared the distant horizon.

When they leveled out, Sans released his hold on his passenger, the extra restraint no longer needed as she stretched out on top of him, her cheek hovering beside his temple as she loosened her hold on his neck a little.

Her breath tickled his cheek as she sighed happily and murmured for him alone, "This is a view I'll never tire of."

Sans cast his gaze to the ground as the edge of the village passed below them and was replaced by the thick forest between it and Mt. Ebott. The mountain dominated the skyline before them, huge and forbidding to anyone not familiar with its secret vistas and peaceful meadows.

"sometimes i think you only let me call on you for the flying," he said with a faux sigh that made her chuckle. His heart jumped at the sound and he grinned into the wind as it whistled through his pinions.

"Not at all," she replied, smile apparent in her voice as she repeated his own words. "But it _is_ a definite perk."

"cheeky," Sans said, laughing as he banked left and slipped effortlessly to the side to catch a thermal that carried them higher yet. He could feel Ellie's grip on him tighten in response and he dipped lower so as not to stray too far from the ground for her comfort. The trust he knew she had in him was tremendous to allow him to carry her thus, but humans were flightless creatures by nature, and trust only got you so far in the face of survival instincts.

They arrived in the clearing below the temple he called home a few minutes later. Landing was always more of a trial than take-off when it came to traveling with a passenger. They'd had enough practice by now, though, that they made it back to the ground without mishap.

A great deal of Ellie's hair had blown loose during the trip, and the woman took a moment to redo it after they landed. Though she didn't notice, Sans watched her every move as he veiled his wings, admiring the way the evening light added subtle red tones to her thick curls before she tamed them once more.

That done, the woman glanced around the clearing, which was ringed by graceful, silver barked birch trees and thickly carpeted by golden flowers. It was a place they'd visited together many times, but judging by the subtly awed expression on Ellie's face, she found it just as impossibly lovely as ever. The blooms were ones found only on holy ground such as Mt. Ebott, and their delicate aroma inspired the woman to take a deep breath of the soothing fragrance before she finally turned to him and asked, "So, where is this mysterious 'something' you found?"

A frisson of terror mixed with excitement shot straight up Sans' spine when she asked, and it took every ounce of control he had to retain his casual stance at her side. He took a step back as he struggled to take a calming breath and pointed towards the opposite end of the clearing. "That," he said simply.

Ellie turned to look in the direction he pointed, and Sans took another step back, carrying himself safely out of her periphery as she squinted against the light of the setting sun in an attempt to see what he meant.

"What?" she asked, confused when she saw nothing besides more trees and flowers. A pretty sight to be certain, though no more so than the rest of the clearing. Frowning a little, she turned back to Sans, only to freeze when she found him down on one knee among the flowers.

"e-ellie," the seraphim began roughly as he reached into the breast pocket of his leather jerkin and pulled out a deceptively simple ring of white gold. Sans was forced to clear his throat before he continued, not quite daring to look up at the woman before him yet. "I..." He stammered to a halt again, all his clever words abandoning him when he finally turned his gaze up to Ellie.

She stood there with her hands clapped over her mouth, eyes wide with surprise until they met his own. In that moment, she dropped her arms to her sides and a smile bloomed across her freckled face like a rose colored sunrise.

The sight gave Sans the strength to push on as he held the ring out before him and admitted, "you know, i had an entire sales pitch for why you should marry me prepared for this moment, and now i can't remember a damn word," with a strangled laugh.

Ellie's smile only grew at his admission, and when he laughed, so did she. Their amusement at the absurdity of the situation escalated until she had to reach out to stabilize herself on his shoulder, and he was forced to unveil his wings and fan them gently to maintain his balance.

The laughter seemed to shake the seraphim free of his nerves, and when they'd both gotten themselves under control again, it was with newfound calm and a heartfelt smile that Sans asked her, "ellie reed, will you marry me?"

"Of course," Ellie answered immediately. "Oh of _course,_ Sans," she repeated and reached for the ring he still held out towards her. At the last possible moment, though, he pulled it just out of reach, making her shoot him a puzzled look.

"I don't have a proper house," he warned her as he met her eyes, wings settling around them, encompassing them in their gentle white light.

"We can build one," she countered and reached for the ring again, only to find it just out of range once more.

"I can never give you children," Sans said, all humor gone from his voice now, and Ellie stopped reaching, realizing that this was important to the man who would be her husband.

"I know," she answered just as solemnly, though a smile returned to her features as she offered, "We can always adopt."

Sans couldn't help the smile that tugged at his mouth in response, but he pressed on. "I don't know what being bound to me will do to your lifespan," the seraphim warned. "You might outlive any children we adopt."

"Then we'll watch over them together, for so long as they'll have us."

The seraphim searched her eyes with his, and after a long moment of silence broken only by the sound of the wind in the trees around them, he said, "ellie, i will love you for so long as i live, and quite possibly even longer than that. when an angel says forever… you have to understand that we mean it quite literally. when we forge a bond like this with someone we love, we will never do so a second time."

Ellie was touched by the depth of the emotion behind the seraphim's words. To see him so solemn was not a common occurrence, and lent an even greater weight to the moment, which she knew had been his intent from the start.

"Sans," she murmured, but was unable to say more before he continued.

The seraphim took her left hand in his and bowed his head over it until the smooth plane of his forehead brushed her knuckles. "out of all the many multitudes, i choose _you,_ ellie reed," he said, voice low and gentle, though there was a tension beneath his words that belied his nervousness. He lifted his head again and continued, "but that said, this is something you have to choose for yourself with your eyes open. it's something you have to want as well. don't say yes for the sake of sparing my feelings. If you need time to think on it, then you only have to say so."

Sans' tone was imploring now as he met her eyes again, his grip on her hand tightening as he watched her consider her options. Her hand tightened on his, and after a long moment of silence between them, she smiled softly and said, "Give me a day, or give me a hundred years, Sans, my answer would still be yes."

"you're certain?" he asked, expression fiercely hopeful and concerned in turns. "if you're not, tell me now. i'm too selfish a man to ask you twice, ellie; say yes and you're mine forever."

The low note of possessive longing in the seraphim's voice made Ellie's breath catch in her throat, heart fluttering in her chest at the way he looked at her now. So close to having what he wanted, so close to giving her everything he was with the absolute trust of a being who would only ever love a single woman for the rest of his days.

Rather than answer immediately, the woman leaned down and brushed her lips against his, gentle but insistent as her eyes slipped shut and his went wide. Ellie felt him exhale sharply as something within him released, sending a delicate tremor through his wings. As Sans's lips began to move slowly against hers, the woman felt his free hand slip up her shoulder and into her hair where he deftly plucked the pin that held it in place, setting the lot free to tumble down around her shoulders. A soft, satisfied sigh escaped the seraphim as he twined his gloved fingers through her ringlets.

"ellie," he mumbled against her lips, the warmth with which he said her name sending a little shiver up the woman's spine as she finally pulled away.

Finding her voice again, Ellie straightened and said, " _Yes,_ Sans, I will marry you. There is nothing in this world that would make me happier."

For a moment, all the seraphim could do was stare up at her from where he still remained on one knee. Eventually, though, a face splitting grin overtook his features and he sprang to his feet with a delighted crow, then swept her up into his arms to dance them around the clearing. Her husband-to-be's wings buffeted the air as they passed, sending clouds of golden flower petals flying high overhead before fluttering slowly back down to the earth.

Ellie laughed and hung on for dear life as she was twirled about with all the effort it took a child to carry a doll. "Sans!" she cried, tears of mirth threatening at the corner of her eyes. "Sans - the ring, you silly bird!"

The angel stopped short and said, "oh." his eye sockets widened a little then and he said again, " _oh._ "

The woman's mouth formed a little 'o' of horror. "You didn't," she breathed as he put her carefully back on her feet and patted himself down in search of the wedding band. "You did!" Ellie gasped, clapping her hands to her face as he grimaced and glanced back the way they had come.

To her relief, the seraphim spoke a few words of Enochian, and there was a brief flash in the distance as the setting sun glittered off a small piece of white gold before it rocketed towards them. It landed in Sans' outstretched hand and he held it up triumphantly between them.

"see, don't worry your pretty head, ellie dear. i've got it all under control," he declared with a grin.

Ellie threw her head back and laughed, sending her wild mane of curls tumbling. "You've anything but! If you didn't know magic we'd never have found it!"

"hey," he groused half-heartedly, "you want this thing or not?" Sans asked as he took her left hand in his gloved one and held the band in question just before her ring finger, one brow cocked as he looked at her.

"You know I do," Ellie said, voice gentle as she stopped laughing and watched him slip the ring onto her finger, heart pounding just behind her breast bone as the weight of the moment settled over them once more.

Sans held her hand between them for a moment, seeming to admire the way his ring sat on her finger before he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "and don't you forget it, sugar," he said with a sly grin.

Ellie laughed.

XXXX

Though memories of his wife made Sans ache in the very marrow of his bones, no tears threatened in his eyes as he stared at his wedding band and rolled it absently between his fingertips. The seraphim hadn't shed genuine tears since he had come to the realization that that there was no breaking the barrier between the Underground and the surface world shortly after the fall. After that, there had been only that painful, aching emptiness in the pit of his being any time he thought of what he, and every other angel, had lost.

Still, there was a reason he had put his ring away in the first place. Thoughts of Ellie hurt more than any other, and reminiscing their time together was the fastest way down into a black abyss of regret for what _should_ have been a long and happy life together. Despite this, Sans' traitorous heart inevitably lead him back to the little box and the one piece of her he still possessed time and time again over the decades.

For the first time, though, a new thought crossed his mind as he examined the ring.

' _El would have loved Frisk,'_ he thought to himself with a sad smile. They'd always planned to adopt children eventually, though had put it off for various reasons over the course of the ten years they had been married. The excuses all seemed so little and inconsequential in retrospect, he thought, not for the first time.

Wasn't that just how life went, though? They'd always thought there'd be more _time,_ until suddenly there wasn't. Especially when it became apparent that Ellie had all but stopped aging as the years passed after their wedding day. What was a few more years when you thought you had eternity?

Sans' fingers stopped restlessly playing with the ring and allowed it to drop into his palm where the seraphim held it tight as he took a steadying breath.

Yes, thinking of Ellie still hurt, and probably always would. Repressing thoughts of her had served him well in avoiding emotional torment, but it occurred to him now that the habit was inevitably robbing him of some of his happiest memories. There were so many of them that their absence had left a void in his heart that he felt was making him gradually, painfully, cave in on himself.

The ring bit into the bones of his hand, reminding him how the ring he'd given his wife had done the same when he'd first acquired it. Papyrus had been the one to engrave it for him, he remembered abruptly, and wondered how he could have possibly forgotten his brother's painstaking efforts on his behalf. When he'd told Ellie that she'd been so touched she had cried all over her soon to be brother-in-law when she saw him next, alarming the archangel until he was able to decipher her tears for the joy and gratitude they were attempting to convey.

The memories, so long repressed, came thick and fast then, leaping to the forefront of his mind in rapid succession. Sans swayed under their onslaught, but let them rush over him without resistance.

The curve of her shy, excited smile on their wedding day. She'd been so radiant under her crown of golden flowers he would have sworn she outshone the sun.

How they'd laughed together during his freshman attempts at baking under her careful tutelage. He'd added far too much baking soda to the cookies and they'd come out with all the softness of woodchips, much to Ellie's amusement.

Their first dance, shared at a harvest festival held in the village center. Even pressed from all sides by crowds of other dancers they'd felt like they were the only two people in the whole world as they moved together in perfect harmony.

A kiss in the rain; soft, gentle, and utterly inevitable as he'd admired the way the raindrops glittered on her long, dark lashes. Sans didn't think he'd ever forget the way the heady scent of pine, rainwater, and golden flowers blended so harmoniously as he'd leaned in to kiss her that day. The whole world had felt washed clean.

He took another breath, throat tight, but under control once more.

Sans opened his eyes without having realized he'd closed them in the first place, and looked at the ring in his hand once more. After a moment's contemplation, he slowly, purposefully put its box back in his dresser drawer. The seraphim couldn't quite bring himself to restore the band to its place on his left ring finger, but he did tuck it carefully into the inside breast pocket of his new jacket before quietly leaving his room and closing the door behind him.

It was quiet downstairs again, though not in the empty, desolate way it had been the day before. While he took a moment to brush his teeth, Sans went to the railing that overlooked the downstairs and noted Frisk's slumbering form with some amusement. The girl had become tangled in her blanket over the course of the night, leaving some parts of her completely uncovered and dangling over the edge of the sofa.

"what a mess," he muttered to himself around his toothbrush and chuckled before finishing up his chore.

Papyrus was nowhere to be seen, which surprised the seraphim. His little brother was _always_ up and about at this hour (there being very few hours in the day in which he was _not_ up and about), though it did occur to Sans that perhaps he was in the shed again.

Unfortunately, the angel was quickly disabused of that notion when he saw a backpack placed neatly before the door with a crisply folded letter on top. Sans glanced at the still sleeping Frisk, then detoured to the bag instead.

The letter proved to have his own name written on it in Papyrus' neat, familiar hand. A curious frown on his face, Sans flipped open the folded slip of paper and read the brief note within.

_SANS,_

_I KNOW YOU ARE PLANNING TO LEAVE TODAY WITH FRISK, AND I ALSO KNOW_ _**YOU** _ _, SO I PACKED THIS BAG FOR THE TRIP._

_I HAVE AN ERRAND TO RUN, SO I WILL CATCH UP WITH YOU LATER._

_YOUR AMAZING BROTHER,  
PAPYRUS_

_PS - PLEASE BRING YOUR PHONE._

_PPS - PLEASE ALSO ACQUIRE A PHONE FOR FRISK, JUST IN CASE._

_PPPS - MAKE SURE TO TEXT HER NUMBER TO ME._

_PPPPS -_ _**SERIOUSLY, DON'T FORGET TO BRING YOUR PHONE** _ _._

A chuckle of amusement at his brother's many post scripts escaped the seraphim as he re-folded the letter and set it aside on the table by the door. A brief perusal of the bag Papyrus had provided revealed a supply of basics they (though mostly Frisk) might need on their long walk to the third trial. It wouldn't take them long to get to Waterfall itself, but Undyne's trial started a considerable distance from the border with Snowdin.

There were some spare clothes, a first aid kit, and a few bottles of water, though not a lot of food. There wasn't much in the way of non-perishables around the house, though, so Sans made a mental note to stop at Bunny's before they left town.

Satisfied and appreciative of his brother's considerate forethought, Sans turned back to Frisk. A little snore escaped the girl, making the seraphim grin as he reached out and tweaked one of her bare feet, left exposed by her thrashing in the night.

"rise-and-shine, princess," he said and watched as she groaned and stirred, then dragged the blanket up over her head to hide from his view. She mumbled something he couldn't understand and he rolled his eyes before reaching out again and trailing one of his thin fingers up the length of her foot.

This startled a yelp from the girl as she tugged it, and the rest of her limbs, up under the blanket as well, making Sans laugh.

"That _tickles,_ " she whined.

"yeah, well, better come on out then or i'm coming in after you," he warned and started for the kitchen to the accompaniment of her over-dramatic sigh.

"For an angel you're awfully evil," she groused when she joined him in the kitchen a minute later.

"not evil," he countered matter-of-factly as he pulled out the scones leftover from the day before and warmed them in the microwave. "but definitely wicked."

Frisk huffed and yawned as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. Papyrus had given her one of his shirts to wear so she didn't have to sleep in her clothes, and it hung on the girl like a dress as she stood barefoot in the kitchen beside him. The more awake she became, the more reserved, Sans noted as they fixed their breakfast and took it into the living room to eat.

He'd decided to forgo the full extent of the condiment collection for the day and made do with only half a dozen toppings. Frisk went straight for the butter again, and ate her food without actually seeming to notice she was doing so. Sans watched the girl thoughtfully where she sat cross-legged in the center of the sofa while he lounged in one corner.

"what's eatin' ya, kid?" he asked finally when Frisk began to slow in her eating, a frown tugging at her mouth. Her hand, he noticed, went to the find gold chain at her neck, and traced its way down to the round pendant that hung below her borrowed shirt. He'd forgotten about the necklace he'd first caught a glimpse of back in the guard shed, and she seemed just as set on not sharing it now as she had been then.

Frisk gave a guilty start and allowed her hand to drop as she answered, "Nothing."

Sans arched a brow and snorted in disbelief, barely managing to avoid spraying her with crumbs. "something's eating you more than you're eating that scone," he pointed out. "spill."

The child shifted uncomfortably where she sat, seeming able to feel the weight of his eyes on her even if she couldn't actually see his stare. "If I… If I _don't_ go to the third trial… something bad would happen, wouldn't it?"

For some reason, Sans' heart leaped in his chest at her question. He forced himself to take a moment and set aside his plate before answering honestly, "angels from the capital would probably come looking for you." He watched her shoulders slump at his confession, and before he could stop himself, said, "but if you want to stay, frisk… pap and i would be happy to have you."

Frisk turned to him, sightless eyes wide. "What, like… forever?" she asked in a tone the seraphim couldn't quite decipher.

"well... yeah," he said, feeling awkward under her regard, though still in earnest. He wasn't sure what he was thinking, actually inviting her to stay. Hadn't he _just_ finished telling Papyrus they couldn't possibly keep her the other night? Nothing had changed, his assertion was just as true now as it had been then. The longer Frisk remained with them, though, the less Sans cared about the consequences. "i mean, you've only known us a few of days, so maybe it's kinda weird to even offer," the seraphim continued. "but we… pap and i, we really like you, kid. i'm not sure what we'd do if something happened to you," he admitted.

It was a lie, of course. Sans knew precisely what he'd do if something happened to the little girl at his side, and frankly, it terrified him.

A small, hiccoughing noise escaped Frisk, drawing the seraphim's eyes back to her face, which was screwed up in a fierce attempt not to cry. To Sans' surprise, she threw herself sideways at him and latched onto the first bit of him her hands came into contact with. Her thin arms twined tightly around his as she buried her face in his shoulder and declared, "I don't want to go, Sans!"

"then don't," he told her, though he knew he was likely signing not only his own death warrant, but Papyrus' as well. He was just as sure, though, that Papyrus would have agreed without a second thought. The seraphim stroked Frisk's hair soothingly with his free hand, and the girl's grip on his arm tightened as her thin shoulders shook, face hidden in the fabric of his new jacket. "come hell or high water, papyrus and i will protect you," he vowed, words quiet but fierce.

They sat like that for a time, Frisk resolutely refusing to be moved from her place on Sans' arm, and the seraphim doing his best to comfort her. He didn't think she was crying, but he could tell it was an uphill battle for the girl, so he left her in peace.

Eventually, though, she pulled away and shook her head, "I can't."

"you could," he countered.

Frisk only shook her head and said, "No. If I did, you'd have to fight lots of other angels, right?" Sans was quiet, but that was all the response she needed. The girl nodded sadly and sighed, pushing her mussed hair back from her round face. "I did make my Grandma a promise anyways," she added.

This wasn't the first time the girl had mentioned as much, so Sans asked, "what'd you promise her that's so important?" He nearly added 'to a dead woman', but refrained. He was hardly one to criticize when it came to the memories of dead loved ones haunting your every action.

Frisk turned away from him and crawled across the sofa to the side table where her flower crown sat, and carefully gathered it to her before turning back to Sans. "I promised her I'd bring her flowers for her grave."

The child's unexpected answer startled the seraphim. "what?" he asked, and when he'd settled again, continued, "no offense, kid, but i'm pretty sure there's _plenty_ of flowers up on the surface you could have gotten her..."

Frisk frowned and shook her head. "No, she wanted _these_ flowers. Golden flowers," she said as she turned the crown over carefully in her slender hands. "She said it had to be these."

Sans very nearly made an unkind comment about her grandmother's senility, but again, managed to refrain. Whatever the case might have been, it was apparent Frisk was deadly serious about carrying out the request. The seraphim suspected the old woman never would have made the request had she been in full control of her faculties. After all, golden flowers didn't even _exist_ on the surface anymore, and hadn't for two hundred years. Either Frisk had misunderstood, or her grandmother had been rambling on her deathbed… "kid, i doubt your old gran' would have wanted you risking your life just so she could have some flowers on her grave," he said doubtfully.

Frisk averted her face and shrugged. "Maybe. But I promised."

"frisk..."

"It's important to keep your promises, Sans," the girl said with a solemnity the seraphim could not argue against.

There wasn't any point, anyways. She was here now, and there was no way Asgore would let an opportunity to acquire a pure soul pass by just because _Sans_ of all people had taken a shine to its owner.

Almost as though she had read his mind, Frisk asked, "Why do I really have to do these trials, Sans? You said it was a dumb rule, but..."

Sans hesitated again, and considered asking her to trust him rather than answer. In the end, though, he decided against it. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she'd agree to stay after all…

Every option that presented itself ended in blood, the seraphim realized. When it came right down to it, though, he'd rather it be his than hers.

"the only thing that can break the barrier keeping us here in the underground is a pure human soul," he explained. "and by that i don't mean an entire soul, i mean the human needs to be pure _of_ soul," Sans clarified. "the trials are meant to weed out people that aren't."

Frisk's brow was furrowed, and she frowned thoughtfully as the skeleton explained. He was relieved that she didn't seem upset at least. When she spoke again, her question wasn't one he'd anticipated. "Who locked you all down here anyways? My teachers always say you were banished for attacking humans, but not who did it."

"really?" Sans mused, brows raised. "it was the sorcerers' enclave that cast the spell when no one was able to stop asgore and his bloody rampage."

The girl canted her head to one side, and the seraphim realized she had no idea what he meant. After a moment's consideration, though, he couldn't really admit to any surprise on the subject. The Enclave had been rather hush-hush even when angels had still walked the earth. For whatever reason, humanity had always been comfortable with the angels in their midst wielding magic, but those of their own species who were able to do the same were often kept at arm's length. Humans born with the ability to command magical forces were never quite accepted by their own kind, and were generally treated with equal wariness by angels.

Those humans that used their magic for selfish reasons often found themselves in a sharp downward spiral to the kind of depravity that lead to the slaughter of seraphim Asriel. Angels were highly magical creatures by nature, and pieces of them, apparently, could be used by humans to achieve mighty, if terrible, feats of magic. Fortunately, these dark wizards often found themselves kept in check by sorcerers, those magic wielding humans who kept strictly to the path of light. Unlike their dark brethren, these individuals had organized themselves into a loose association called the Sorcerers' Enclave.

When Sans had failed to stop Asgore, it was the Enclave that had enacted the spell to banish angelkind from the surface of the earth. The seraphim had resented them for many years, but in retrospect he knew it had been for the best. Given the kind of slaughter the Commander of the Heavenly Host had proved capable of enacting not only by himself, but by forcing the action of those under his control, there had been little other choice.

His father-in-law had warned him as much, that dark day before Sans had set off on his ill-fated mission to fight Asgore alone.

"the enclave was a group of human magic users that sort of," Sans waved a hand vaguely as he tried to put thought into words for the child, "looked out for mankind by keeping anyone trying to use dark magic in check. normally this didn't apply to angels, but…"

"But no one else could stop Asgore?" Frisk volunteered.

"pretty much," Sans agreed, deciding his own involvement in the matter didn't need including. "the spell the enclave performed to lock us away was primarily focused on asgore," he continued, picking absently at the crumbs on his discarded plate. "because angels are so magically interconnected, though, it caught everyone and sent all of us away."

"Do you think they sent _all_ of you away on purpose?" Frisk asked, frowning at this thought, clearly displeased with the idea.

"no," Sans answered without hesitation. He had, after all, been warned as much by Ellie's father, Marcus. Though his daughter had never known the truth, Marcus had been a member of the Sorcerer's Enclave, and had been the delegate sent to tell Sans of their plans should Heaven not bring an end to Asgore's rampage. "if they'd had time, they probably could have sent only asgore away, but..." here he hesitated to inflict the full details on the child who listened to him so earnestly.

"But he was hurting a lot of people," she finished for him, expression unhappy.

"yeah," he agreed, relieved to leave the matter at that. "a lot of time was spent studying the spell after we wound up down here, and from what we can tell, it takes a pure human soul working in tandem with asgore's to undo what's been done."

Frisk's lips twisted at this reveal. "Can't Asgore just… _ask_ a human for help? Why make them fight? That's dumb."

A huff of amusement escaped Sans and he ruffled her hair affectionately. "it is, but it kind of isn't. from what we can tell, we'll only get one shot at undoing the spell. after that, it's permanent. plus-"

Sans hesitated again, but it was too late. "What?" Frisk asked.

"plus..." the seraphim began slowly, then pushed on unhappily, "asgore will have to kill the human to take their soul and use it to break the spell." Frisk went pale, and Sans immediately reached out to her again in hopes of reassuring her. "i'll get you out, kid, i swear."

Frisk opened her mouth, then shut it again before finally managing to ask, "But how?"

"there's no magic keeping _you_ here," he explained. "if you can just get to an exit, you can leave any time you like. _we're_ the only ones trapped here. unfortunately, the only exit is in asgore's throne room, and the trials are between us and it." Sans mused.

"Oh," the girl said, seeming to brighten some at this faint hope. Her expression faltered, though, and she said, "But… if I leave, you and Pap will still be stuck here, won't you?"

Sans went still at her words, and watched her closely as he tried to make up his mind on which way to go from there. Eventually, he just ruffled her hair again and said, "don't worry about us, kiddo. lets just focus on getting _you_ out of here for now." He pushed up off the couch and collected their plates before bringing them to the kitchen. "us angels have all the time in the world, after all," he lied with a smile.

XXXX

The morning flew by after that. Frisk bathed and changed back into her own clothes (tutu included) while Sans searched his room for his cellphone. It took a bit, but he eventually found it under his dresser in a distant, dusty corner, and brought it back to life with a simple charge spell. It was an older flip model, not one of those fancy touch screen things his brother was so fond of, and was chock full of unread texts and voicemails. Sans deleted them all in one fell swoop after deciding it wasn't worth the effort to go through and actually pick out any he might be inclined to respond to. Better to start with a fresh slate.

Before he left his room for the last time, Sans took up the jacket he'd been wearing the day before and transferred the contents of its pockets into his new one. Mostly it was just odds and ends, so he discarded some of it, though Toriel's feather earned itself a place in one of his new inside pockets so it wouldn't get lost. It wasn't as though he _needed_ it; he wasn't about to go back on his initial promise to her now, after all, but it was nice having a keepsake of his long absent friend.

"yo, kid," he called as he stepped out of his room. "you got a cell phone?"

Frisk stuck her head out of the open bathroom door where she was doing her best to dry her hair with a towel and said, "Um, yeah," and produced a model not unlike his own, though certainly a little sleeker, from her pocket. "It hasn't worked since I fell down here though," she added and frowned down at the device.

Sans took it and flipped it open, though it proved to have no charge. Even after he'd returned power to it with the same spell he used on his own, though, it quickly became apparent that it was next to useless as a communication device in the Underground.

"guess we'll grab you a cheap one down at the shop before we go," he said and handed the phone back to the girl. "that or maybe bunny will know how to adapt it to the network we use down here."

"What do I need a phone for?" Frisk asked from beneath her towel as she went back to drying her short hair.

"pap left a note saying we should have them, just in case," Sans explained with a low laugh that rumbled a little in the depths of his hollow chest. "he's probably right, to be fair. doesn't hurt to be able to call each other if we get separated."

The girl finished her hair and nodded before feeling for the towel rack and carefully placing her towel on it. "Where _is_ Pap?" she asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Sans shrugged, "dunno. he just left me a note saying he had some errands to do and he'd catch up later."

"He shoulda' said bye first," Frisk pouted as they made their way downstairs together and she collected her crown of flowers.

"maybe he did and you just slept through it," Sans pointed out. A sly smile tugged at his mouth and he added, "you _were_ snoring pretty loud..."

"I was not!" Frisk objected vehemently as she dropped the crown on her head and adjusted it so it sat comfortably above her ears to keep it from slipping down.

"yep. scared dog away and everything," the seraphim teased and bent to collect the bag Papyrus had packed for them, then slipped his right arm through one strap and shrugged so it sat comfortably.

Frisk made a face at him, and he laughed. She hesitated after a moment though and asked, "Have you seen Dog, though? It was here last night when I went to bed..."

The earnest, fretful concern on the child's face was enough to make Sans lay off on teasing her in favor of saying, "don't worry about dog, kiddo. like i said the other day, dog's a free agent. it'll come back around when it's ready."

Frisk grumbled a little at this answer, but eventually accepted it when she realized she had little other choice. She found her stick by feel next to the door where she'd left it, and together they ventured outside once more.

Before leaving town proper, Sans lead the way to Bunny's shop where he picked up some more travel friendly food and another water bottle. Though she had no more phones to sell them, the lesser angel _did_ know how to adjust Frisk's so it could operate in the Underground, which pleased them both.

"i'm putting myself in your speed dial," Sans told the girl before he returned her phone when they had exited the shop again. He flipped through the menu and and hesitated briefly when he saw that 'Grandma' was already at the top of the list. The seraphim keyed down to the second slot and entered his number, and then added Papyrus as number three. "there," he said, and closed the phone with a satisfying clap before passing it back to Frisk. "I'm second on the list, and i went ahead and added pap as number three."

"Thanks," she said, smile sweet, though a little melancholy in Sans' eyes. He didn't comment, though. Instead he opened his own phone and entered her number into his contacts.

"ready?" he asked her when he'd finished and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

Frisk tilted her head then sighed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"lovin' that enthusiasm, kiddo," Sans remarked drolly as they started walking, drawing a smile to the girl's face.

Frisk's stick cut through the snow in front of her with a soft 'swish-tap' as they walked down the main avenue of the little town. Without Papyrus, no one approached or attempted to greet them, which suited Sans just fine, and Frisk didn't appear to notice.

"Hey, Sans?" the girl asked, a small frown tugging at her lips. "Do my flowers look ok?"

The seraphim arched a brow and glanced at her sidelong. Out of deference to her actual question, he did look at the crown of golden flowers in question as her fingers trailed lightly over them. "you're barking up the wrong tree if you're asking these old bones for fashion advice, princess," he admitted with a snort of amusement.

Frisk scrunched up her nose and in a put-upon voice said, "No, I _mean_ are they wilting? Or- or losing petals?"

The reason for her concern clicked and the skeleton answered truthfully, "oh, no, they're fine, kiddo, i promise."

"Really?" she asked, relief writ clear across her fair face. Her brow furrowed after a moment and she admitted, "I thought they'd be ruined for sure by now."

"nah," Sans said, waving off her concern, though his own was beginning to kick in as they left the edge of town and encountered fog that seemed to grow in density with every step they took. "golden flowers aren't like normal flowers," he explained. "as long as you're on holy ground, nothing short of literally setting them on fire will damage them."

"The Underground is holy ground?" the child asked, surprised.

"it wasn't before we fell down here," the seraphim admitted with a huff of wry amusement. "two hundred years of having so many angels crammed in such a relatively small area made it that way, though. think of it like radiation, just with more divinity and significantly less cancer."

Frisk made a thoughtful noise at this new information, and only spoke again when Sans himself hesitated. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The fog had thickened to a degree that the seraphim could barely see the child at his side, let alone more than five feet in front of him, forcing him to stop. The weather at the border of Snowdin and Waterfall was always temperamental thanks to the temperature difference between the two regions, but this was absurd.

"this fog is ridiculous," he complained aloud as he squinted into the mist, no longer certain they were headed in the right direction. "can't see my nose at the end of my face."

"Oh no, how terrifying," Frisk replied blandly in a voice dry as the Sahara.

A short laugh escaped the seraphim despite his concern and he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "sorry kid, you know what i mean."

"But you don't even _have_ a nose," she pointed out cannily, only to yelp when he reached out and tweaked hers.

"fine, i can't see _your_ nose at the end of your-"

"Shh! Did you hear that?" Frisk asked and clapped a hand over his mouth before he could reply. He sputtered a little, but didn't say anything as they both strained to listen. The sound repeated, distant but familiar. "Dog!" the girl exclaimed and bounded forward, forcing Sans to lunge and snag her free hand with his so she wouldn't leave him behind.

He nearly made a joke about the blind leading the blind, but decided that felt a little tasteless even for _him._

Out of the mist, a familiar form appeared, the bright black eyes and nose being the first thing the seraphim was able to distinguish of Dog. The creature was all delighted wiggles when it flopped down in front of Frisk and allowed the girl to pet it with equal enthusiasm.

"Good dog, finding us!" the child cooed happily to the creature, which brought on another paroxysm of full body wiggling so vigorous Sans was surprised it hadn't strained something by now. "Sans got us lost, do you know the way to Waterfall?" Frisk asked Dog.

"i am _not_ lost," Sans scoffed. "and even if i was, it's not like a dog would-"

Before the seraphim could even finish his sentence, Dog was back on its paws and bounding away into the mist, disappearing almost immediately. It barked and Frisk jumped up to follow. "C'mon," she said as she took Sans' hand once more. "I'll lead this time."

She tugged on him and the seraphim only hesitated a moment before allowing her to pull him forward in the direction Dog had disappeared. "well, if we get lost _this_ time, it's your fault," he groused half-heartedly as they caught up to Dog again, only for it to trot ahead once more.

"Hah! So you admit we _were_ lost then!"

Sans refused to answer, and Frisk grinned, taking it as a victory.

Eventually the fog began to thin, much to Sans' relief. Following the dog didn't really bother him once it had become apparent that the creature really _did_ seem to know the way, but the sensory deprivation that came with all that mist did. He didn't just feel blind, but deaf as well. The thick, cottony whiteness devoured sound, making even Frisk's voice sound muted at his side.

The sound of water reached them first, and the fog quickly devolved into mist after that, making Sans release a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "welcome to waterfall, princess," he told Frisk as they trod across the first of many bridges they would encounter. Streams, rivers, marshes, and the numerous waterfalls for which the region was named all dominated the land, leaving it more water than fall most of the time.

When she didn't say anything, Sans glanced at the girl and saw her frown, her expression perturbed as she turned her head this way and that. "what's wrong, kiddo?" he asked, brow furrowed as he too glanced around warily. He'd come to accept that the child's hearing was much better than his own, and if she was hearing something now…

Frisk made a small sound of discontent, as though hesitant to even put words to what she was feeling. Finally, though, she turned towards Sans and asked, "Is there… is there someone _watching_ us?"

Now the seraphim _really_ looked around, equally perturbed by the possibility. Surely Undyne wouldn't have camped out at the border to wait for them? Last he'd heard, the archangel's trial was some ways east from Snowdin, but maybe she had decided to make a preemptive strike…

Power thrummed through the seraphim, and his hold on Frisk's hand tightened as the light of his right eye snuffed out. The left flared blue, altering Sans' sight so details blurred and faded, but every living thing in the area suddenly blazed bright and clear in his vision. Plants glowed gently around them, the little fish in the river below the bridge were sharp, star-like pinpricks darting through the dark, and beside him, Frisk's soul burned like a bonfire. Somewhere at his heels, Dog snuffled, but the seraphim ignored the creature in favor of focusing on their surroundings.

No living thing could hide the light of their soul from the seraphim, and with the exception of Frisk at his side, no other such light presented itself, which relieved the tension that had sent Sans' shoulders rigid in anticipation of a fight. Worry assuaged, the skeleton turned his eye back to Frisk's soul, a radiant presence just below her breast bone that burned hot, steady, and determined under his gaze.

"Well?" she asked, startling him from his contemplation of her innermost self.

"i don't see anyone," he answered and blinked, returning his vision to normal.

Frisk frowned again and rubbed the back of her neck absently. "I _swear_ it feels like someone is watching us though," she complained. "I felt it when I first left the ruins too."

Silently, Sans wondered if the stress of having a bunch of angels hunting her down for her soul wasn't getting to the girl, but didn't say as much. Instead, he tugged lightly on her hand and lead the way across the bridge, Dog trailing after them. Frisk seemed to lighten up a little as they passed the first waterfall and Dog wedged itself between them to push at her hand with its cold, wet nose.

"Hey, occupado, you menace," Sans told the animal as he lifted their hands out of the Annoying Dog's reach.

Frisk, however, only laughed and released her hold on him so she could scratch Dog's head. The creature shot Sans a look the skeleton could only label as smug, which was not something he was accustomed to seeing on a dog.

"oh, i see how it is," Sans drawled as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "soon as something warm and fluffy comes along, the bag of bones is yesterday's news, huh?"

"Well..." the girl began guiltily and actually hesitated in petting Dog.

The expression on Frisk's face made Sans chuckle. He bumped her lightly with his elbow and said, "i'm only teasing, princess. keep frowning like that and your face is gonna get stuck that way."

"Well, you would know I guess," she countered with a grin and Sans laughed.

XXXX

Hours passed, but the scenery changed little around them as they traveled. Mostly they chatted to pass the time (well, Frisk chatted, Sans mostly listened and contributed the occasional quip just to liven things up) while Dog came and went at its leisure. The creature would dart off into the bushes for awhile, only to return with a stick for one of them to throw. When they did, it would vanish again, sometimes for several minutes, and then return with an entirely different stick.

"your dog is kinda bad at this game," Sans observed as Frisk threw yet another stick and the animal in question bounded off into the tall grass to the side of the path with a joyous bark.

"What do you mean _my_ dog? Dog lives with you!" she said as they continued walking, her walking stick tapping in front of her.

The seraphim scoffed. "that dog may mooch off me on the regular, but that doesn't make it _mine,_ " He glanced at Frisk sidelong, a smile pulling at his lips as he added, "nah, that thing loves you, kid. i may not know much about owning a dog, but i'm still pretty sure that's the most important bit."

Frisk bit down on her lower lip, but couldn't conceal her smile. "Could I… Could I take Dog back to the surface with me, you think?" she asked hopefully.

Sans blinked, but answered, "i don't see why not, so long as it wants to go. the spell wasn't meant to keep dogs down here anymore than it was humans."

Grinning delightedly at this news, Frisk cannoned into him and threw her arms around the seraphim. "Thanks, Sans!"

Sans grunted at the impact, but chuckled and slung an arm around her. "dunno what you're thanking me for, but okay," he said, then paused when they came around a bend in the path as it wound along a cliff face so tall it disappeared up into the darkness overhead. "oh," he breathed out quietly.

"What?" Frisk asked as they came to a halt, her arms still wrapped tightly around the skeleton.

He glanced down at her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the landscape spread out before them. "nothing. i just forgot how pretty it is out here, is all," he admitted and cleared his throat awkwardly.

The landscape of the Underground was odd wherever you went; a natural side effect of being, well, _underground_. Waterfall as as wet as its name suggested, though that didn't make it any less lovely as he looked out across a rolling landscape that was interrupted by the occasional vast stalagmite that rose from the ground to connect, pillar-like, to a stalactite of equal size overhead. Scattered amongst these mighty hangers-on were crystal formations that glowed with a gentle blue-white light the waters below reflected in kind.

Sans would never mistake them for stars, as, while beautiful, they were all wrong. More like a child's interpretation of stars, or what an artist would paint when they had only secondhand tales of the night sky to inspire their work.

"Describe it for me?" Frisk asked him hopefully.

The seraphim glanced down at her, then back at the 'sky' overhead before starting to walk again. "alright," he said after a moment, and did his best.

Attempting to paint a mental picture for a blind child was a more challenging task than Sans had ever appreciated before that moment. Frisk had only distant memories of the years when she still had the use of her eyes, so a great deal of context was lacking. After some trial and error, though, Sans found that describing the shape of things in broad strokes worked best. Using words such as 'soft' or 'sharp' proved more relatable than colors, or light and dark.

He could read how well he was doing in her expressions and the way she tilted her head, and it wasn't long before she was smiling. Eventually, though, she started rubbing first one ear, and then the other in a distracted fashion that made him wonder if he was losing his audience.

"Your voice sounds funny," Frisk said with a frown as she turned her face up to him. She grimaced before he could reply, though, and said, "Now _my_ voice sounds funny..."

"what are you-" Sans began, then paused as he heard it as well. When they spoke, their words echoed strangely, despite the surrounding area not being conducive to the creation of _actual_ echoes. "oh," he said, and laughed, only to hear the sound repeated almost immediately after him. "that's just the echo flowers, kiddo. there must be a patch of them around here somewhere."

"Echo flowers?" Frisk repeated just as Sans spotted one of the large, gently glowing flowers tucked away between two rocks a little ways off the path. "What are those?"

"Here," the seraphim said and lead her carefully over to the flower. "they're pretty much what they sound like. flowers that echo whatever they last heard."

_they're pretty much what they sound like. flowers that echo whatever they last heard._

"But how does a flower _hear?_ " Frisk asked, baffled but intrigued by this idea as Sans guided her hand up to brush over the large petals.

_But how does a flower_ _**hear** _ _?_

"How does anything hear?" Sans mused.

_How does anything hear?_

Frisk shot him a flat look and the seraphim laughed, which the flower also echoed. "If this flower has ears, I will _scream,_ " she informed him.

 _If this flower has ears, I will_ _**scream**_ _._

"it doesn't, i promise," he told her as he took her hand and drew her back to the path once more, not releasing his hold on her until they did for fear of her tripping on the uneven ground. "probably some sort of magic, just like most things down here," he mused.

_it doesn't, i promise. probably some sort of magic, just like most things down here._

Frisk made a little hum as she considered this, Sans' last words echoing again as they left the flower behind to repeat itself until someone else came along for it to mimic. She opened her mouth to speak again, but the seraphim shushed her silently by placing one hand over her mouth as they passed yet more flowers.

_I wish these flowers would stop copying us, it's creepy._

_Are we lost?_

_I miss her so much…_

_Ugh, what did I just step in?_

They passed through half a dozen different conversations as they walked, each listening with idle curiosity to what had been said by those who had come before.

_UNDYNE, PLEASE, JUST_ _**LISTEN** _ _!_

The familiarity of the voice brought them both up short, and Sans was forced to clap a hand over Frisk's mouth before she could call out to Papyrus. The girl tried to push his hand away but he kept it firmly in place and tugged her over to him, breathing gone slow and quiet as his left eye flared blue and searched for any signs of life around them.

_UNDYNE, PLEASE, JUST_ _**LISTEN** _ _!_

Once again, only plant life revealed itself, though Sans remained wary. His soul sight had a limit on its range, after all, and was draining to use indefinitely. He allowed it to drop as he murmured quietly to Frisk, "don't say a word until i say so, alright?"

_UNDYNE, PLEASE, JUST_ _**LISTEN** _ _!_

Ever the bright child, Frisk nodded and Sans started walking again, his hand tight around hers in anticipation of a sudden need to flee should his brother and Undyne prove to still be in the area.

_Save your breath, Papyrus. Nothing you can say will change the fact that this human of yours has to go through my trial. If you interfere with that-_

_Nothing you can say will change the fact that this human of yours has to go through my trial. If you interfere with that-_

_If you interfere with that-_

_with that-_

The echo flowers grew so thick along the stretch of path they now walked down that Undyne's voice bounced crazily around them, repeated ad nauseum until her words became a garbled mess. When they broke through the patch, Papyrus' voice came through bright and clear once more, like a radio station suddenly coming back into tune after nothing but white noise.

_BUT FRISK ISN'T LIKE THE OTHERS-_

_BUT FRISK ISN'T LIKE THE OTHERS-_

_LIKE THE OTHERS-_

_FRISK-_

_What do_ _**you**_ _know of the others?_

Frisk's hand tightened around Sans', making the skeleton glance sidelong at her. The child's chin had dropped to her chest, her dark hair sweeping forward to hide her face from him. He didn't have to see to know how much the conversation they were overhearing distressed her, though. Sans gave her hand a squeeze in return, thoughts going to his brother.

'Running an errand' his boney, non-existent ass.

Sans cursed himself silently. He should have known his little brother would try to talk to his fellow archangel in hopes of convincing her not to attack their young friend. Unfortunately, though Papyrus and Undyne were friends, the other archangel was much older, and her heart long since hardened to the pleading of mere mortals. Of all the trial keepers, Undyne had slain the most humans, and was the most unforgiving.

How she and his tender-hearted brother had become such close friends, Sans was convinced he'd never understand.

_We need a pure human soul to escape, Papyrus, have you forgotten?_

_a pure human soul-_

_-have you forgotten?_

_-forgotten?_

_HOW COULD I? YOU NEVER STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!_

_-STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!_

Coming to an abrupt decision, Sans struck off the path with Frisk in tow, and waded through the flowers, expression grim. The conversation played on repeat around them, brief snatches seemingly startled from the blooms as they passed.

The seraphim didn't slow until they'd left the archangels' voices behind, and stopped in an open, grassy clearing that had no echo flowers in sight. "alright, it's safe to talk again," he told the girl.

"Why'd we leave the path?" she asked as she caught her breath. "And where's Dog?"

"i don't know how long ago pap and undyne walked along there. for all we know, we might have been about to catch up to them," he admitted truthfully, though the girl's own discomfort at hearing herself discussed so coldly by the archangel she was about to face had played some part in the decision too. "as for the fuzzy mooch..." Sans glanced around, but saw no sign of the animal in question. "no idea," he said with a sigh, but quickly added, "don't worry, it always finds its way back eventually."

Frisk heaved a sigh of her own, but nodded while Sans adjusted the backpack that hung from his right shoulder. He glanced at the crystals on the ceiling to orient himself, not unlike one might have with actual stars on the surface. The benefit here, of course, was that there was no change in their orientation with the seasons. Granted, the eternal _sameness_ of the Underground was just as maddening as it could be useful.

Frisk's hand found his as they started walking again, apparently content to let him lead now that they were back on uneven ground again. The seraphim couldn't help but smile a little at how very natural it felt to have her at his side as they waded through the knee high grass towards the treeline. He could see more flowers in the distance, but he kept going regardless, figuring it'd be unlikely for Undyne and Papyrus to have left the path as well. He'd keep them going parallel to it for awhile before cutting back over to it in hopes that the archangels were long gone.

Unfortunately, since he was unable to fly, simply cutting across Waterfall willy-nilly wasn't feasible. The marshes had hidden depths, and the rivers ran swift and cold over unforgiving rocks. They wouldn't have any choice but to cross them at the various bridges angelkind had built since their arrival if they wanted to make it through.

Which was why he'd bet his good wing Undyne would lie in wait for them rather than try to chase them down.

Frisk stumbled, and though Sans' hold on her kept her from going all the way down, she still managed to scrape one knee.

"Ow!" she hissed as he helped her upright once more.

_Ow!_

_Ow!_

"you alright?" he asked as he bent to assess at the damage. While her skin was probably abraded under her tights, the fabric itself hadn't torn, so he was surprised when he heard her begin to cry. "it's not that bad," he chided her in a light tone in hopes of cheering her up. "no need to get all weepy."

"I'm not," Frisk said, sounding a little offended that he thought she might cry at something so minor as a scraped knee.

Her defensive tone brought a grin to his face, and Sans said, "it's alright to-" He paused when he glanced up at her and saw that the child's face was completely tear free, her expression puzzled and a little miffed at his teasing.

The crying continued in the face of her silence.

Frisk heard it too, then, and her brow furrowed. "Is… is that the flowers?" she asked hesitantly.

"must be," Sans said as he straightened. For a moment, he considered going back to the path early, but considering the potential danger should they bump into Undyne there, he decided that, creepy or not, the crying flowers were the better option. "come on," he said and tugged Frisk's hand lightly to encourage her forward.

To the child's credit, she only hesitated a moment before allowing him to draw her on into the trees. Flowers grew here and there, and though Sans had expected the crying to die off quickly, it simply continued on and on… great, heart wrenching sobs filled the air and sent a shiver up the seraphim's spine as they tugged at something in his memory.

Beside him, Frisk wasn't just holding Sans' hand, but had practically plastered herself to his side. He kept stumbling over her, but the seraphim didn't have the heart to push her away. This was creepy enough for him, let alone a ten-year-old kid whose only lifeline in an unending darkness full of eerie, heartbroken weeping was a broken seraphim with a bad sense of humor and some deep seated mental issues.

Weeping...

Sans came to a stop as cold certainty settled in his gut. Frisk paused beside him, brow furrowed as her head turned towards him in silent question. He ignored her, though, and called, "is someone there?"

The flowers that surrounded them didn't even have time to echo his words. They were immediately overwritten by a wail that made the hairs at the nape of Frisk's neck stand on end and Sans' shoulders go rigid.

"W-who is that?" Frisk asked, small, round face gone pale as she pointed unerringly to their right at the source of the sound.

Sans spun sharply on heel to look as his wings appeared, disturbing the flowers around them as the right one spread wide, then swept down and around to shield Frisk. The left he held close to his back as the seraphim's eyelights shrank to tiny pinpricks in his eye sockets when he saw they were not alone in the forest. The seraphim's good wing pressed the child in close against him and his arms wrapped tightly about her, as though ready to leap into the air at any moment, despite the impossibility of the feat. He knew his reaction had frighted Frisk, he could feel her trembling, but he said nothing and took a step back, then another, pulling her along with him.

Through the trees at some distance, he could see the archangel where she wandered aimlessly through the flowers, weeping openly, shoulders bent with grief.

"Sans!"

Frisk's desperate, frightened tone dragged his attention back to the girl in his arms, and made him realize she'd been trying to talk to him the entire time. "what?" he rasped, voice gone low and uneven as they took another step back together.

"Is it Undyne?" the girl asked, her voice muffled by his wing, though he could not have shifted it from its protective hold on the girl for love or money in that moment.

"no, kid, it's not undyne," he replied. At Frisk's frustrated, fearful tug on his jacket, Sans continued, "it's cassiel. she was the keeper of the second trial before papyrus."

"I thought… I thought no one knew what happened to her? Why's she here?" Frisk asked.

"no," the seraphim corrected her quietly as he watched Cassiel's progress in the distance. " _pap_ didn't know what happened to her. i do. plenty of people do. she got killed by the last human to take her trial."

Sans could feel Frisk go rigid in his grip, and he mirrored her posture, though for an entirely different reason. Cassiel was heading directly towards them now.

She'd been peculiar for an angel, even by his own standards. Her broad wings had been a few shades more orange than Papyrus', and in death she still wore an almost cheerful looking mask that put one more in mind of a demon than the archangel she was. Her long cloak and scarf trailed behind her as she walked, her weeping made all the eerier by the fact that her mask continued to smile. Her garb had once been russet orange in color but now they, and her wings, had been rendered a faint blue-green in death as her translucent soul wandered the forest, no longer bound to a physical body.

"She's… she's a ghost?" Frisk asked, voice shooting up an octave as she began to return his tight grip. "But Grandma always said ghosts don't exist!"

"they didn't used to," Sans replied faintly as his eyes locked with Cassiel's behind her mask. She had seen them for certain, and was advancing slowly, but steadily, in their direction. "but i told you before, kid, angels are all trapped down here until we can break the spell holding us. _no one_ gets to leave, not even when we die."

A small, distressed sound escaped Frisk then, though Sans wasn't sure if it was from horror at this revelation, or fear of what was approaching.

"don't be afraid," he told her as he finally stopped backing away in the face of Cassiel's advance. "she's just a weeper, she can't hurt you," the seraphim insisted, though he did not drop his protective stance.

"But _you're_ afraid!" Frisk objected as she clung to him, then twisted in his grip so she could bury her face in his jacket.

"i am _not_ ," Sans objected, glancing down at her briefly before turning his gaze back to the advancing archangel.

"Yes you are, I can hear it in your voice!"

Well, she wasn't wrong about that. His voice always had gone a little funny when he was truly shaken, as he was now; it just wasn't for the reason she assumed.

He hadn't lied; there was nothing Cassiel could do to harm them. This was, however, Sans' first run in with a Weeper in a very, _very_ long time.

The Underground, while beautiful, held certain unforeseen cruelties that had not become apparent until the angels had been there for some time. No one had realized the spell that had banished them there would hold them even in death. They were naturally long lived creatures, and before the fall, the average angel could live untold eons so long as they were not outright killed. No one died of illness, or old age; they would simply… move on from their physical forms when they eventually tired of life and were ready to continue into the hereafter to discover what awaited them there.

After the fall, though, it had taken some years before the first of them had tried, only to find themselves trapped in a limbo between this life and the next, no longer tethered to a physical form, but unable to find the light that _should_ have lead them out of that darkness. This was so distressing to the angel's soul that they lost all grasp on reality almost immediately and were left to wander, weeping for the loss of what they once had and that which they might never achieve. They remained trapped indefinitely, only occasionally able to register their surroundings or the people among whom they sometimes found themselves.

They became known simply as Weepers, though somehow, these were still less distressing than the Fallen.

Oh, everyone in the underground had _fallen,_ but the title as such was granted only to those for whom hope had become so remote that they had simply… stopped. There was little other way to explain it. While still technically alive and bound to their bodies, some angels would fall down and never rise again, completely catatonic and unresponsive in the face of any stimuli, magical or otherwise.

Now, staring down Cassiel as she approached, Sans recalled his own near miss at joining their ranks.

It had been the seventieth anniversary of the fall, and every angel in Snowdin had wound up in Grillby's or clustered in tight knit groups on the street outside. Some had come from as far as the capital for the unofficial memorial and a glass of the dominion's famous golden liquor. Grillby had been brewing it for years by that time; a finely honed mix of vodka and fermented golden flower milk he made himself in his free time. Normally it was nigh impossible to get an angel well and truly drunk, but Grillby's golden liquor could manage it a treat in three glasses or less, depending on one's tolerance.

Sans had been on his sixth glass, comfortably numb as the room spun pleasantly around him. He had claimed a booth for himself and Papyrus at the beginning of the night, though his brother had disappeared off… somewhere, Creator only knew where. The seraphim suspected he might have to scrape him off someone's roof tomorrow if previous memorial days were anything to go by, but that was future Sans' problem.

The angels of Snowdin didn't gather to remember the fall every year, though no one was quite sure why. Some years the day came and it just felt… _right_ to show up at Grillby's and get royally smashed in the company of everyone you knew. Like there was some silent signal that rippled through the populace and flipped a mental switch to summon them all to the bar. Speeches were made, tears were shed, and drink flowed freely to help ease the ache a little.

Sans himself had been feeling better than he had in a long time. The ache in his wing hadn't been quite as bad in those days, but still enough that it was a good thing Grillby didn't offer golden liquor year round. It was the only thing short of magic that really numbed the seraphim, and he knew it could so easily become a habit had it been readily available.

Maybe that was _why_ the dominion didn't sell it the rest of the year. Sans surely wasn't the only one longing for the occasional (or more) descent into insensibility…

"How long's it been now? I've lost track again..." an angel in the next booth asked of her companion. Sans could barely hear them over the ruckus that had long since swallowed the bar, and continued to pretend he couldn't as he eavesdropped.

"Seventy years now," the second angel said with a hefty sigh. "Feels longer, though."

The first angel whistled quietly. "So that makes it… what, 1886 topside? Or, wait… 1887?" The second nodded glumly, and after a moment, their companion continued. "Think it's possible we'll be back for the new century?"

Sans didn't hear what was said next. He had frozen with his glass halfway to his mouth and was staring into the milky liquid within as he suddenly started doing frantic mental math.

Seventy years? Could that possibly be right? Surely not…

Some internal clock the seraphim had been pointedly ignoring over the years told him it was, though, and a swell of dread rose within him. It had been the autumn of 1817 when the fall had occurred; he and Ellie had been married the summer of 1807 not long after her twenty-eighth birthday, which meant _she_ was…

One-hundred and eight years old.

There was a sharp crash somewhere in the distance, but Sans paid it no mind.

One-hundred and eight… an age most humans never came close to, let alone achieved. Granted, his wife hadn't aged for the ten years they'd been together, but even subtracting a decade left her at ninety-eight, an equally unlikely number.

He felt sick.

Had things gone according to plan, a hundred years, two hundred, five… all would have likely left Ellie untouched thanks to her bond with him. The magic he possessed in spades would probably have sustained her indefinitely. Granted, he couldn't be certain; a seraphim making a life bond with a human was nigh unheard of, though Sans found it unlikely that no one before him had ever fallen for a mortal. You heard rumors of angels that disappeared off into the world and never returned to heaven sometimes. What other reason could there be but they had found happiness with a human and made their home with them in some quiet corner of the world where they could live undisturbed?

That was all Sans had wanted, after all. As soon as he had finished his stint as guardian of the gate, he and Ellie would have left that little village at the base of the mountain and traveled the world until they found some place new to settle down. He'd dreamed of somewhere quiet by a warm sea where the water was clear and El's skin would turn golden brown under the hot summer sun. Somewhere he could stretch out on the sand and absorb all that heat into the very marrow of his bones so he'd be as warm to the touch as his wife when the night fell and their bodies twined under the sheets of their shared bed. Somewhere they could raise a child or three or six in a house full of laughter and sunshine that poured in through open windows while the heady scent of his wife's baking filled the air.

He would have been there now if not for Asgore. And now he'd _never_ have that, not even if they miraculously escaped tomorrow.

Ninety-eight was an age few humans ever lived to see.

Sans remembered the way their bond had stretched when mortal magic opened that black pit beneath his feet and innumerable shadowy hands had reached out and dragged him into the dark. Ellie had grabbed at him, fighting her own father's magic for her husband's immortal soul, weeping with frustration as Sans' hand slid inexorably through her grip.

He wished she hadn't been there to witness his fall. Wished his frantic struggling and blood soaked form hadn't been the last Ellie had seen of him. Wished to the Creator that the kiss they'd shared on the steps of the temple before he'd left to fight Asgore had been her final memory of him, rather than the terror that followed.

But she'd been the one to ride out on a stolen horse to find him, broken and bleeding where Asgore had left him, intent on bringing him home again. Of course she had. _Of course_ his brave and possibly mad (she'd agreed to marry _him_ , after all) Ellie had been the one to ride through a thunderstorm while angels ravaged the land abroad when it became obvious his plan had failed. She'd wept at the extent of his wounds, but that hadn't stopped her dragging him to his feet, bearing the weight of him on her narrow shoulders as she coaxed and cursed him along in turns.

But he'd fallen anyways. The magic had left her untouched, kneeling on empty air as she clung to his hand, muscles straining with the weight of him and that which dragged him down. He wished he'd had the presence of mind to tell her that he loved her one last time.

" _not yet!_ " he'd gasped instead, pleading with the enclave, with the magic that coiled ruthlessly around him like a serpent, with Heaven itself... " _not now! i can still fight!_ "

His pleas fell on deaf ears and he'd dropped like a stone into the depths to the sound of Ellie's scream. Their bond had stretched to the thinness of the finest spider's silk in an attempt to span the impossible distance between husband and wife until, finally, even that broke and drifted away on unseen tides in the dark that filled the void between them.

"Sans?"

There had then been a hand, warm and heavy, on the seraphim's shoulder. When Sans turned to look up at its owner, he found Grillby's flickering features regarding him with some concern, a towel held in his other hand.

"what's wrong?" the seraphim asked in what seemed like a perfectly normal tone, though his voice sounded a mile away and Sans felt as if he were tethered to his body by a thin cord, rather than inhabiting it. The dominion gestured at the floor and the skeleton noted that he had dropped his glass of liquor without even noticing. Glass shards glittered in the flickering light of the dominion's flames as the liquid it had once held gradually spread across the floor. "oops. sorry," he said and smiled distantly, "butterfingers."

"My Lord, are you alright?" Grillby asked, voice dropping as he leaned on the table, barely discernable brow furrowed in outright concern.

"please don't call me that," Sans said blithely through his smile. Somewhere inside his head, someone was screaming. It was making it awfully hard to focus on the world around him.

Grillby nodded slowly at the request, still watching the other angel closely before finally asking, "Where's Papyrus, my L-...excuse me, Sans?"

"i, uh…" Sans hesitated, left hand going to his temple where a throbbing ache was beginning to develop and spread down to his shoulder. He was still smiling. He wanted to vomit. The seraphim's right hand went to the table and gripped the corner lightly in a vain attempt to stop the world from spinning sickeningly around him.

"Let me send someone to find him for you," Grillby suggested gently.

"no," Sans answered more sharply than he'd intended. He needed to get out of the bar, to go somewhere he could be alone. Coming had been a mistake. Drinking had been a mistake.

Thinking about his wife had been a mistake.

There was another crack, and Sans opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed to see the splintered remains of table corner crumbling through the fingers of his right hand. Other angels were starting to look their way now, including the couple in the next booth over, and Sans' smile widened.

"don't know my own strength," he mused with a self-deprecating grin as he let the splinters drop to the tabletop. "can't take me anywhere," he joked, drawing a laugh from the crowd before they turned their attention back to their own conversations. Sans took the opportunity to slide out of the booth and make for the door before he could attract any more attention. Grillby moved to stop him, but a sharp look from the seraphim brought him up short and forced him to back away.

Before the dominion could even try to speak, Sans was gone.

The skeleton wandered aimless and unseeing through the forest, seeking out the cold and the silence as a balm to the inferno burning inside him. His bones felt ready to crack from the heat of it, leaving him simultaneously full of frantic energy, and desperately exhausted.

In the end, exhaustion won out, and Sans shuffled to a stop in the center of a clearing where the snow was deep, pure, and untouched by passerby. Chest heaving, the seraphim dropped to his knees, bringing the snow to his waist as he turned his gaze heavenward and begged quietly, "please… please take this from me." The tears wouldn't come, hadn't come in years, but Sans' voice cracked with emotion as he continued. "Creator, please take this pain. i can't carry it any further, i'm not… i'm not strong enough," he gasped.

His breathing gone ragged, Sans lifted his hands in supplication and sat back on his heels. "is this my punishment?" he asked the silent sky as snow began to fall slowly from the darkness overhead. "my just desserts for failing to stop asgore; a prick of pain for every life lost while i stood by and watched?"

The silence around the angel deepened as the snow fell thicker than ever. He dropped his head and allowed his hands to fall to his sides as a long, slow breath escaped him.

"that's fair," he whispered, then his temper shifted and he lifted his head to demand, "but did you have to take her too?" The seraphim's shoulders shook violently for a moment before an agonized cry escaped him and he surged to his feet, wings erupting from his back in a blaze of pain and glory to spread wide and defiant as he screamed, " _what gives you the right?!_ "

No answer came, and after a time, the seraphim's wings dropped to trail the snow covered ground around him. They cut swaths through the once pristine whiteness that looked shabby and dull in comparison to his right wing, though cast the opposite effect on his ruined left.

Sans knew his maker was not listening. No one had seen the Creator in millennia, it was unlikely they'd suddenly show up again now for someone such as himself. His hands shook as he stared down at them unseeing and murmured, "what am i supposed to do, el? how am i supposed to..."

Sans' words trailed off as a dangerous, seductive thought slipped across the surface of his mind.

He'd already fallen once. Maybe he just… maybe he just needed to fall a little further.

The Fallen felt no pain. So far as anyone could tell, they didn't feel anything at all.

What bliss that must be, the seraphim thought distantly.

It'd be easy, he realized breathlessly. The gentle tug of oblivion was something he'd been feeling for some time now as the years ticked on and his hope trickled away like so much sand in an hourglass with no bottom. If Sans just gave into the pull he could finally _stop_. Stop hurting. Stop existing. Stop missing his wife with every agonized fiber of his being. Stop regretting the life they'd never had together.

Maybe someday someone would finally break the binding spell and they'd be free, and Sans' soul could move on free of pain to find Ellie in the hereafter…

"SANS?"

The sound of his name rocked the seraphim, and had him turning to look for the source before he even realized what was happening.

Papyrus stood at the edge of the clearing, his tall, thin frame rigid with concern as his body language practically screamed an unease that bordered on fearful. Sans stared at him, and the taller skeleton's red wings ruffled uneasily under the weight of his gaze.

"ARE YOU… ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Papyrus asked hesitantly, knowing full well that the answer was 'no', but following through with the charade for the sake of his brother's pride. Sans was always alright, after all; even when he wasn't.

Oblivion tugged harder at Sans, feeling like someone had lodged a hook in his sternum that robbed him of breath and will with every pull. He took a long, slow breath and carefully pushed aside oblivion for Papyrus' sake. He couldn't leave his brother to live out their years in the Underground alone. He wouldn't take the easier road out of his personal hell, not when doing so might send his little brother careening into his own.

Anything but that.

Sans veiled his wings and let his shoulders drop as he smiled at Papyrus through the falling snow and, in a shaking voice admitted, "no, pap. i don't think i am."

The archangel's eyes widened at this admission, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for what to do. Papyrus rallied quickly, though, and closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. When he reached his brother, the taller skeleton paused, then took a seat in the snow beside Sans and swept one crimson wing out and around the seraphim to pull him in close to his side.

Sans allowed it, and shuddered a little as the warmth of Papyrus' feathers enveloped him. "THAT'S OKAY, SANS. YOU DON'T _HAVE_ TO BE ALRIGHT ALL THE TIME, YOU KNOW," the archangel said, voice gentle when he spoke.

The cold, unforgiving world had gone red, warm, and soft, leaving Sans wrongfooted and silent. Words would not come, so the seraphim leaned against his brother in silence, allowing Papyrus to bear the full weight of him for a time.

They'd remained there for hours; not speaking, just listening to the snow fall while the memorial party continued without them. Neither of them missed it, and neither of them ever attended another.

"Go away! You're scaring us! Go _away!_ "

In his distraction, Frisk slipped from Sans' grip and pushed her way out from under his wing to wave her stick at Cassiel in a vain attempt to fend her off. She was clearly terrified, but faced the Weeper down regardless, shaking hands clutched tight around the stick he'd given her. It was glowing with a pale white light that seemed to give the former archangel pause.

_Human…_

The echo flowers seemed to say the word as one, soft and gentle as a sigh. Though Frisk couldn't see it, Cassiel reached out to her in unison with Sans, each intent on getting to the child first.

There was a sudden rustle in the tall grass to the left that resolved itself into a white blur before either angel had a chance to react. The Annoying Dog erupted from among the echo flowers, barking madly as it landed between Frisk and Cassiel, hackles up and teeth bared in warning. The flowers took up the cacophony and multiplied it a thousand fold, making Sans and Frisk clap their hands over their heads in an attempt to block out the noise while the archangel's translucent figure stumbled backwards with a soft gasp, and vanished.

The Annoying Dog flattened itself into something resembling a pancake along the ground as it tried to cover its own more delicate ears. "shut up!" Sans said reflexively, despite the fact that Dog had long since stopped barking.

_shut up!_

_shut up!_

_up!_

_shut-_

Hands still covering her ears, Frisk took a desperate breath and, in a soft, clear voice, began to sing:

" _Do you long to be left all alone?_  
Set apart with a heart made of stone  
There's a light that you shine  
There's a love, I see it in your eyes  
Every day, every night  
I know time may divide  
But fate is something we refuse to hide  
And it's real, and it's right  
Something strange out of sight  
We say goodnight..."

The echo flowers picked up the tune and returned it in a pleasant harmony that drifted through the forest as Sans slowly lowered his hands and Dog picked itself up off the ground. The animal's tail wagged at this development, and even the seraphim heaved a silent sigh of relief. Not wishing to interrupt the music, though keenly aware of the fact that Undyne might very well have overheard the ruckus and even now be on her way to investigate, Sans gently placed his hand over Frisk's mouth to signal the need for her to be quiet.

The child nodded soundlessly, and when the seraphim made his intentions clear with a light touch, allowed him to lift her into his arms. She threw her arms around his neck and Sans let her adjust her grip on her stick so she wouldn't clock him in the head while Dog trotted excited circles around his feet.

 

Once Frisk was settled, he made sure their pack was still in place on his right shoulder, and started to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much! Remember to drop a review if you enjoyed, and try following my fandom tumblr jolieburnsinfandomhell for updates, sneak peeks, and fanart!


	5. Still Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter five! As I mentioned in the notes of the last chapter, I decided to go with shorter updates so I can do so more frequently. I know its been a bit since the last chapter and doesn't SEEM much faster, but just take into account that you still wouldn't be getting an update if I were doing longer chapters, sooo... 8'D
> 
> Anyways, do PLEASE leave a review if you enjoy the chapter! They only take a few moments of your time, and they mean the absolute world to me, the person who has spent literally hundreds of hours of her limited free time to bring you this story free of charge -sweats-

It was several yards before Sans found his stride, but when he did the landscape flew past; a blur of tall lavender grass and the occasional streamlet to be vaulted. The seraphim's shoulder throbbed with every step as he carried Frisk, but he ignored it for as long as he could in favor of putting distance between them and the uproar they had mistakenly caused among the echo flowers.

When they came to a river they could not so easily jump, Sans finally stopped, a little out of breath and achy, but glad to be away. He put Frisk down on her feet and watched as Dog sprinted right into the shallows of the river and proceeded to thrust its snout into the water and drink deeply.

"How far did we go?" Frisk asked curiously as she gained her feet and straightened her tutu, then her crown of flowers.

The seraphim glanced back they way they had come and hazarded a guess. "few miles?"

"What?" the girl said, startled. She laughed and grinned, then added, "You're just like the Flash!"

"the who?" he asked, brow quirked in amusement at her delighted smile while Dog waddled out of the water and shook itself off. Luckily it did so well away from them before returning to plop itself down at Frisk's feet, tongue hanging out of its mouth.

"The Flash!" she repeated. "He's super fast! Also, he's friends with Superman and Wonder Woman and Batman and-"

"i think i get the drift," Sans cut in with a chuckle, and while the girl continued to ramble on, wondering how he didn't know about the Justice League when they'd been around for ' _like a hundred years_ ', he turned his gaze back they way they had come.

Was a few miles far enough if Undyne did indeed overhear and decide to investigate? Probably, but it would still be best to keep moving and add to that margin of distance just to be safe. Still, the river was far too wide here for him to jump with Frisk, Dog, _and_ a bad wing. That meant they needed to find a bridge.

"-Wonder Woman's my favorite, but Hawk Girl is super cool too," Frisk rambled on, unaware of Sans' drifting attention. "The Avengers have Captain America, though; he was Grandma's favorite. He fought Nazis _and_ space aliens."

"pretty impressive resume for one guy," Sans admitted, slipping seamlessly back into the conversation. "let's keep walking, princess. we're gonna have to find a bridge to get over this river."

"Which way?" Frisk asked, turning her head this way and that, apparently disoriented after their mad dash which, admittedly, hadn't exactly been in a straight line. Sans set her facing the right way and all three started off together once Dog bounded to its feet and trotted on ahead, sniffing here and there for sticks, but finding none so far from any trees.

"that was a pretty nice song back there with the flowers, kiddo," the seraphim remarked conversationally after awhile once Frisk had exhausted her impressively large array of superhero factoids and lapsed into silence. "what's it called?"

"Um," the girl began thoughtfully, a small frown tugging at her lips. "I don't remember what it's called, but it's from my favorite Tinkerbell movie," she explained, brightening a little. "It was the part from the end when when all the fairies make a nice place for the Neverbeast to sleep," Frisk recalled. Her smile went a little sad when she added, "It was Grandma's favorite song too, even though that part of the movie always made her almost cry. It made me sad too, because the Neverbeast saved all the fairies, but it still had to go back to sleep at the end even though everyone wanted it to stay."

"sounds sad," Sans agreed. Indeed, the song the girl had sung back among the echo flowers had definitely had a melancholy air to it. It did make him wonder when kids movies started getting so serious, though. Granted, not many human films had made it into the underground for a long time, granted, their invention of 'DVDs' and their sturdy cases had resulted in a recent uptick in variety. They offered a small, peculiar window into what life had become on the surface, though it was hard to tell just how close to the truth they might be.

The seraphim glanced sidelong at Frisk, who had one hand alternatingly resting on Dog's head or hanging at her side while the other swept her stick back and forth before her. Her expression had gone somber, no doubt thanks to her mention of her grandmother. Or perhaps she was simply thinking of Cassiel and the alarming situation they had just escaped.

Sans bumped his shoulder lightly against hers and asked, "tell me about your grandma?"

Frisk tilted her head towards him and seemed to hesitate a moment before a smile spread across her features and she nodded. "She always smelled really nice," the girl said with a wistful sigh, "and her skin was wrinkly but, like, _so_ soft. She had a pretty singing voice too. She liked to sing in the shower, and when she was cooking, or cleaning-"

"pretty much all the time then?" Sans mused with a chuckle, grinning at the girl's description. It was interesting to hear the difference in how the blind child described her grandparent compared to how most would. Were he to describe someone, he'd immediately think of their hair, eyes, or skin color. Forced to rely on other senses, Frisk's description painted a unique portrait of the woman who had raised her.

"Yeah," the child agreed, smile widening. "I remember from when I was really young, before I got sick, that she had lots of white hair. White like snow, and she always wore it up in a bun," Frisk said, gesturing to the back of her own head with her free hand to indicate the style. "I stuck flowers in it sometimes," she added with an impish smile. It began to falter, and Sans would have changed the subject had Frisk not done so herself. "What's your mom like, Sans?"

Ther seraphim blinked, wrong-footed by the question. "I-" he began, then shut his mouth, brow furrowed.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't wanna," Frisk hurried to say when he hesitated. She reached out towards him and patted the angel lightly on the shoulder in what she clearly hoped was a reassuring manner.

A huff of amusement rushed out of the skeleton and he shot her a rueful smile. "It's alright, princess," he mused. They walked in silence for a minute, the only sound that of the Annoying Dog's foraging in the long grass and the rush of the river to their right. "she's a skeleton like me and pap," he said eventually, refusing to speak of his mother in the past tense. "not quite as tall as him, but a lot taller than me."

"Is she pretty?" Frisk asked with a smile, clearly happy to be learning more about her peculiar friend.

"dad definitely thought so," he answered with laugh. "she's scary smart too; taught me everything i know about magic."

"Is she a seraphim too?"

Sans shook his head. "nah. mom's a throne, dad's an archangel like pap."

Frisk nodded thoughtfully at this revelation. "When you were sleeping the other day, Pap told me he used to work for Asgore in the angel army," she said out of the blue, once again taking the seraphim off guard with the sudden change in subject. Conversation with Frisk, Sans was coming to learn, was a bit like drunken darts: you never knew what you'd land on next.

It was bit of a oversimplification, but it accurately summed things up in a way a human child could understand, so he said, "yeah. he about died when he got the news he'd made it into the commander's unit," Sans mused with a snort, recalling his little brother's raptures when he'd found out all those years ago. The seraphim pointedly pushed aside thoughts of what had eventually come after, and how Papyrus might still be in Heaven rather than trapped down here with him if not for that assignment…

"So what was your job? You know...before?" Frisk asked, sounding a little hesitant to broach the subject, but curious enough to dare.

"i, uh," Sans began, then paused awkwardly as he rubbed the vertebrae at the base of his skull absently and debated on his answer. His failure to stop Asgore's rampage as gate guardian was something the seraphim was loathe to discuss, so he skipped it in favor of a different, though still truthful, answer. "well, i _was_ high judge of the heavenly host," he admitted reluctantly.

Frisk blinked and raised her brows. "A judge? Like...in court with criminals and lawyers and stuff?"

"kinda," Sans replied with a grimace. He'd always had a gift for magic and crafting holy relics, but being Judge had been his _job_ in the host before he'd requested assignment down on Earth. It was a job only a seraphim could perform, and his soul sight had been sharper than most's. Luckily, Toriel had been looking for reassignment at the same time, so it had worked out neatly for the both of them. Sans glanced at Frisk and could tell by the cant of her head that she was waiting for him to continue, so he sighed a little and did so. "if angels had a disagreement they couldn't solve amongst themselves, they would come to me and i would mediate as an impartial third party. if an angel committed a crime, i would pass judgement and decide their punishment."

"Angels commit crimes?" Frisk asked, eyes going wide with such disbelief that Sans had to laugh.

"yeah, kid, they do," he said. The seraphim snorted disdainfully and as an afterthought, added, "some of us like to act like we're perfect and above that petty shi-... garbage, but we're not."

"Wow," the child murmured, mind clearly boggled by this revelation, making Sans wonder just what they were teaching in human schools these days.

Angels were, of course, less inclined to killing one another than humans, but that didn't mean they never committed crimes or had arguments. His job had been easier than a human judge's in many ways, though. He didn't have to deal with lawyers for one. Using soul sight to see the truth of a matter had cut through many cases with ease, though others had remained tricky regardless. If a person genuinely believed what they told him, after all, it showed as truth in their heart, and when you had two plaintiffs doing as much, things quickly became muddy.

He'd been eager to leave the job for just that reason. It had been emotionally exhausting, and Sans had never been a people person, even among his own kind. He had gladly handed the reigns over to Toriel in favor of taking her place as gate guardian down on Earth. Life on the mountain had been quiet and uncomplicated after years spent in the courts of Heaven…

Well, until he'd met Ellie, anyways. Even after everything that happened, though, Sans knew he would do it all again in a heartbeat, fall and all.

Sans, Frisk, and the Annoying Dog continued walking for some time. When they eventually came across a bridge that spanned the river they had been walking alongside, the seraphim scouted ahead, leaving child and dog behind to wait for the all clear. Undyne proved absent from that particular crossing, so Sans hurried them across and deviated from the path once more. This made for slower going, but they all felt the safer for it.

Eventually, Frisk began to lag behind, and the skeleton decided to call it a day after the girl's third jaw-popping yawn in as many minutes.

"we'll camp out here," he said when he spotted a small, cave-like crevice in the mighty rock formation they had been walking along for some time. With trees being few and far between in this stretch of Waterfall, it was the most cover they were likely to find for some time.

" _Finally,_ " Frisk said as she heaved a sigh of relief then dropped to the ground where she stood and flopped over backwards so she sprawled in the grass. She wasn't given long to rest before Dog took advantage and proceeded to wash her face with its tongue. "Ew! No, bad Dog!" she complained and pushed at the creature half-heartedly.

Sans rolled his eyes and said, "i didn't mean _here_ here, princess. over this way." He nudged her with the point of his shoe before he turned and headed over to the rock face. He dropped their backpack and sat down with his back to the stone, then opened it and fished around inside it.

"But I'm _tired,_ " the girl complained with another hearty sigh.

"I'll just give your dinner to dog, then," Sans threatened lightly as he pulled out a few sandwiches and a bottle of water. Dog immediately perked up at this news and bounded over with a bark. The seraphim's brows went up and he laughed when the creature settled primly at his feet, tail wagging excitedly, jaw dropped in a houndish grin.

"Noooo!" the child whined, though didn't quite muster the energy to move.

Dog sat up on its hind legs and lifted one forepaw in a manner even Sans had to admit was adorable. "damn, kid, better hurry, he's begging like a pro. dog's got moves; not sure how long i can resist."

"Ugh, you are the _worst,_ Sans!" Frisk said and finally hauled herself to her feet with the help of her walking stick and moved to join them.

"maybe," the skeleton agreed smugly as Frisk plopped down next to him, "but i'm also the one with the sandwiches."

The little girl sighed again and put her stick down before accepting a saran wrapped sandwich from Sans and digging in without further complaint. When she was halfway through, though, an impish smile crossed her round features and she asked, "Hey, Sans, did you make these?"

"nah, pap did," the seraphim answered. Lacking much of an appetite, he fed the other half of his sandwich to dog rather than finish it himself. The creature gulped it down and licked its chops, making Sans wonder if Dog had even tasted it.

"Oh, that's too bad," the girl replied, making him quirk a brow at her as he took a sip of water. He didn't have to wait long, though, as she continued, "cuz if you had, it'd be a _sans-_ wich."

The seraphim had to struggle not to choke on his mouthful of water, and Frisk beamed proudly, looking a little smug at her successful play on words.

"good one, kid," he said, ruffling her hair proudly and making her giggle. "i'll have to remember that one."

Frisk straightened her crown and took another bite of her food. An idea seemed to occur to her while she chewed as she swallowed hurriedly and said, "The cafe serves sandwiches! I'll name one after you. I'll call it 'the sanswich' and it'll have like...ten toppings!"

The seraphim's eyes widened at her earnest proclamation, and his soul tightened a little in his chest. He wouldn't be sad when she left (or so he tried to tell himself). He'd be happy, and perhaps relieved of some small measure of his guilt if he were successful in helping Frisk on her way back to the surface. He'd be happy knowing that this wayward child had escaped to live the life she was meant to have back among her own people, even if none of the angels ever would.

Sans would carry her memory in his heart right alongside Ellie's, he knew now, and he would never forget. When she was dust and the last of her descendants had vanished from the face of the Earth, Sans would _still_ remember her just as she was in this moment: smiling, golden crown off kilter, and radiating happiness.

Frisk would likely never know it, but in that moment, she achieved a kind of immortality that only Sans' own death would spell the end of.

The seraphim managed to breathe again, and he said, "oh yeah?" his voice a little rough, but he hoped the child would put it down to his choking a moment before. "better make it at least fifteen toppings if you want to do me any sort of justice," he teased lightly.

"That's _way_ too many!" she objected with an incredulous laugh before finishing off the last of her sandwich and feeding the crusts to Dog who scarfed them down just as quickly as it had Sans' offering. "No one would ever order it."

"you're probably right," Sans mused. "humans just can't stomach a sandwich awesome enough to be named after me, i guess."

Frisk scoffed and smiled. After a moment, she suggested, "What about twelve? Maybe they'd order twelve if they were really good toppings."

Sans pretended to mull this over for some moment before grinning and saying, "yeah, alright then, twelve it is."

The child's own smile widened in return as she absently stroked Dog's head where it lay between them. "I like it when you smile," she admitted out of the blue. Before Sans could muster a reply, she continued, "It makes your voice go all nice and warm."

The seraphim stared at her, taken aback by the peculiar compliment he'd just been paid. Had he been able, he probably would have blushed. "O-oh yeah?" he remarked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah," Frisk replied with a bob of her head. "Hey, Sans?" Still a little off kilter, the skeleton grunted in answer and the girl took that as a sign to continue. "Can I… can I touch your face? You know, so I can tell what you look like?"

Sans' brow quirked at this, mouth twisting into a rueful smile. "thought we already established that i'm a skeleton?"

Frisk huffed. "Yeah, but not all skeletons look the same, right?" she asked. Then, almost as though she hoped to guilt him into a yes, she continued, "Pap let me do him when you were sleeping yesterday."

The seraphim hummed noncommittally and watched Frisk closely as she waited for his answer. She had sat up quite straight, hand slowing in its gentle petting of Dog's ears before coming to rest on its back. The animal seemed to have drifted off to sleep, though, so it didn't complain at the lapse. Frisk herself didn't seem anxious at his silence, but she did worry at her bottom lip with her teeth, and it occurred to Sans that the act of reaching out to a person in that way likely meant quite a lot to a girl who could not see.

Finally, he sighed and said, "alright, fine."

Frisk lit up at his answer and immediately shifted so she was seated on her knees facing him. Sans followed her lead, though he sat cross-legged once he had turned towards her, smiling a little at her excitement and glad he'd decided to indulge her.

Sans had never been the type to like being touched overmuch throughout his life. Immediate family such as Papyrus and his parents had been exempt from this unwritten rule, and even then, it was rarely instigated on his part. Ellie had been the only exception; it was her touch he had craved like a drug (and still did). His general aversion to touch was something that had only intensified after the fall when even casual contact could bring on intense pain if experienced unexpectedly.

"carefully, please," he told Frisk once she had scooted in so her knees brushed his crossed legs and she reached out toward him. He gently caught her wrists and guided her hands towards his face so she wouldn't grab his shoulder by mistake.

"Not like I haven't done this before," the girl grumbled half-heartedly, though allowed herself to be guided. When her fingertips brushed over his cheekbones, Sans released his hold on her and sat quite still as she carefully mapped his features. "You're rounder than Papyrus," she observed, smiling a little to herself at this discovery.

"you trying to call me fat, princess?" the seraphim joked lightly.

"How can you be fat? You're a skeleton," Frisk said and laughed, making her fingers slip and accidentally jab directly into Sans' nasal cavity.

The skeleton sputtered and snorted as he jerked back in surprise at the sudden intrusion. "hey, come on!" he complained, rubbing fitfully at the area with the back of his hand, torn between laughter and discomfort. "i know you're _nosey_ , but you don't have to _literally_ stick your fingers up my nose."

"Sorry! Sorry!" the girl said as she laughed, though the furrow to her brow bespoke true contrition, no matter how funny her slip up might have been. "Sorry," she repeated, "Most people have a nose there."

"yeah, yeah, rub it in why don't you?" he groused. He saw Frisk hesitate to touch him again and sighed, but reached out to guide her hands in once more. "just...try to keep your fingers out of my eye sockets at least, huh?"

Frisk grimaced but nodded readily in agreement as her fingers trailed, feather light, along the line of his jaw, up to his temples, and across his brow. Sans studied her own face as she worked, amused by the way the child's brow knit in concentration while she, he assumed, committed her findings to memory. Frisk's hands drifted briefly over the back of his skull, then down to the vertebrae at its base before coming to a stop at his shoulders. "Can I-" she began, then stopped as she let her hands drop into her lap and pulled back a little, teeth worrying her bottom lip again.

Worried she might chew it raw at this rate, Sans poked her in the cheek to make her stop. "can you what?" he asked.

Frisk grimaced, but stopped biting her lip. "Can I, um..." she seemed to shrink in on herself as her voice dropped to something only just barely louder than a whisper. "Can I touch your wings?"

Sans had to bite his own lip to keep the immediate and emphatic ' _no_ ' that wanted to escape him under wraps. The apprehension Frisk obviously felt at even daring to ask gave him the strength not to crush her fragile hopes. It had taken a lot of guts to ask, he could tell, and after all, he was the one who had insisted she speak after she had apparently decided against it.

The seraphim shifted uncomfortably where he sat as the silence stretched on between them, the little girl seeming to shrink a little more with every moment that passed without his answer. Sans didn't mind her touching his good wing, she already had multiple times before now and he was comfortable enough with the child to allow it; instigate it, even. He knew that wasn't what she was really asking, though. What Frisk wanted was to touch his left wing, to run her fingers over charred feather and ruined flesh…

Sans shuddered at the thought and might have broken out in a sweat if he'd had skin as the half a sandwich he'd eaten threatened to make a reappearance. _No one_ touched his bad wing, not even him. Sans refused to so much as look at it if he could at all manage.

A small voice somewhere in the depths of his soul that sounded suspiciously like Ellie suggested the exercise might be good for the child. How else was she to fully understand what anyone else could plainly see? Another part of him, the selfish part that relished the trust Frisk had in him and the fact that she looked to him for protection was repulsed by the idea. The thought of her small hands mapping out the extent of the scars that catalogued his failures in a macabre tapestry stitched into his flesh made his soul ache.

"I-it's alright, forget I asked," Frisk said, shoulders practically up around her ears.

A sense of relief washed over Sans at her words, though it was quickly followed by a surge of guilt and a sense that something important was threatening to pass them by.

' _If you never take the risk and open yourself up, you'll never learn to love anyone, and no one will have the chance to love you.'_

Ellie's words returned to haunt him for the second time since meeting Frisk, and once again he wondered at his wife's insight. It used to drive him up the wall, the way she could cut straight to the heart of a matter, no matter how he might try to avoid it. She'd spent so very little time on Earth and yet he'd still swear she saw so much clearer than he did. Sans knew that if she were here now, Ellie would probably lecture him for being 'emotionally constipated' or something before gently talking him through his lingering hang-ups about his injury. Granted, if his wife were here, he'd never have become this way in the first place…

"kid, wait," the seraphim finally said, breaking down and bringing Frisk up short before she could move away from him. The child turned towards him, still frowning, but seeming less distressed than a moment before. "just- " he began, then paused before forcing himself to continue, mouth dry, "just… gently."

Normally the girl might have made a retort of some kind, especially after his first warning about his eyes, but there was a raw note in the seraphim's voice that even someone as young as she could pick up on. It struck a sympathetic chord in her, communicating in a way mere words never could just how much trust he was placing in her by giving in to her request.

"Okay," she agreed solemnly as their hands met once more and Sans helped Frisk to her feet while he himself remained seated.

The seraphim gave his shoulders a reluctant roll and unveiled his wings. He stretched them experimentally, and while the right was able to extend with ease, the left began to shake before it reached the halfway point as pain burned along the damaged nerves and ravaged muscle. Sans bit back a grunt and let the limb relax to a more comfortable position that kept it significantly closer to his body. The length of the feathers on his good wing (and those few that remained on his left) forced him to hold both at an angle, though his pinions dragged across the grass regardless.

Frisk stood very still for a moment, seeming content to allow Sans to make himself comfortable before reaching out once more. "I'll do the right first," she said with unusual insight for one so young.

Sans only grunted, though he did appreciate her forethought. Maybe easing into things would make the exercise more bearable.

Frisk started at his shoulder and allowed her hands to trace the leading edge of his wing. The small feathers that covered his powerful muscles were impossibly soft and fine under her sensitive fingertips, drawing a smile of delight to her lips. The expression faded a little and was replaced by awe when she was forced to take several steps along before she so much as reached the elbow of the massive limb, let alone its end.

"They're huge!" she exclaimed incredulously as she kept going, and going, and going… Eventually she reached the end of the actual limb, and continued out along the longest of Sans' pinions. Having been forced from a young age to gauge distance in steps, Frisk knew her friend's wing was nearly twenty feet long. She'd known they were _big_ , after all, she'd been wrapped in them more than once, but she'd never realized just _how_ big until that moment. "Sans, you're amazing!" she declared brightly as she hurried back to where she'd started and ducked under his wing to trace her fingers along the larger, though equally soft, feathers there.

The seraphim cracked an eye to watch the girl, having let them drift shut as she scurried here and there around him. Her steady, careful hand on his wing had proved soothing, and he managed a smile for her in turn. "Not really," he mused with a shrug that nearly swept Frisk off her feet. Instinctively, he folded his wing and caught the girl before she could take a tumble, allowing her to steady herself on the vast swath of luminous white feathers before using it to herd her in closer. Frisk giggled as she was nearly swamped by all that warm softness, but pushed her way free before Sans was able to drag her in against his side.

"Yeah-huh," she insisted.

"nuh-uh," he countered lightly with a snort of amusement. "it's how i was born is all."

Frisk scoffed. "Well, I still think it's cool," she said, then allowed the subject to drop as she turned in the general direction of his left wing.

She hesitated, suddenly consumed by doubt on the wisdom of what she was about to do. Frisk knew Sans' wing was sensitive, knew she'd hurt him badly the last time she'd touched it by mistake. Her body threatened to begin shaking at the memory of the animal noise that had torn from the angel's throat when she'd laid hands on him; she didn't think she'd ever forget it for as long as she lived.

Just as she was about to chicken out, his hand on hers brought her back to the present. The seraphim's strong fingers lead her gently forward until he shifted his hold down to her wrist so he could bring her hand to rest, palm down, at the base of his left wing.

The difference between the limbs was obvious as soon as Frisk began to move her hand with the utmost care she could manage. While the feathers of one had been impossibly soft, those of the other had a strange brittleness to them that made Frisk feel they might shatter beneath even her light touch. She could hear Sans' breathing change as he forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths, and could only trust that he would say something if he became too uncomfortable.

The difference between the angel's wings lay not just in the feathers, Frisk realized as she made her way towards the first joint, but in the muscle as well. It felt wasted and weak, and was racked by the occasional tremor that made her pause in concern every time. When she reached the 'elbow' of the left wing, the girl's hand was forced to go up in an attempt to follow the limb further. She wondered why, then realized it must pain him to stretch it out fully as he had with the other. Knowing she could go no further in that direction, she ducked down very carefully and shuffled underneath, her fingers still trailing lightly over the strangely brittle feathers until an intense network of scars brought her up short.

The extent of them made her wince in sympathy, and the severity churned her stomach. The flesh had long since healed, though badly; the scars were thick and rigid, pulling what skin remained painfully taut between them. Many of the smaller feathers that made up the wing's plumage still remained, but only in patches thanks to the network of scars. Almost all of the primary and secondary feathers were gone however, with only a few remaining to give Sans' left wing a ragged look. These felt charred beneath her fingers, and to her horror, one threatened to crumble when she touched it, making Frisk snatch her hand away hurriedly.

Deciding she'd had enough, the child crawled out from under the ravaged limb, face contorted into an unhappy frown. Sans watched her closely and waited for her to ask him what had happened to cause such extensive damage. To his surprise, though, after a moment's hesitation, Frisk simply moved back to his right side and sat down next to him.

When she pressed up against his side and insinuated herself beneath his arm, the seraphim realized she was trembling.

"you alright, frisk?" he asked eventually when the girl continued quiet. The skeleton allowed his bad wing to relax more fully into a position less likely to worsen its ache, and dropped his good one so it trailed across the grass and folded around the child.

Frisk took a breath and seemed to search for the words she wanted before finally saying in a low, fervent voice, "I don't understand why someone would do that to you."

Sans' eyes widened in surprise at this response. It certainly wasn't what he'd expected her to say. A huff of wry amusement escaped the seraphim. "i'm glad you don't," he said simply.

The girl shifted at his side and plucked absently at her tutu for a minute, no doubt debating on what to say next. Eventually, she sighed a little and let her head drop onto his shoulder, making Sans wonder just what was going through her mind, even if he didn't quite dare ask. Frisk reached out and stroked the portion of wing nearest her in the same absent way she had pet Dog minutes before, then asked, "What color are your wings, Sans?"

"white," he answered, then hesitated and added in a tight voice, "well, mostly. The… left one… parts of it are black."

Frisk nodded thoughtfully. "White," she repeated with a soft smile. "That seems right."

"what?" Sans asked, confused but entertained by this turn in the conversation.

"Well, Grandma told me that colors have meanings sometimes," the girl explained. "Like, red is for determination and passion and love and stuff. Blue is..." she paused, frowning a little as she tried to recall the appropriate words. "Integrity? Yeah, integrity and wisdom, I think." Frisk smiled a little when a huff of amusement escaped the skeleton at her side and continued, "Anyways, she said white meant purity, safety, and faith."

Sans huffed again, though the amusement behind the noise held a bitter note this time. "kid, i think i lost all three of those things a long time ago," he admitted thoughtlessly, and immediately regretted it. Frisk didn't need his angst tainting her view of the world.

Before he could make some joke to lighten the mood and cover his faux pas though, the girl admitted, "Well… I know you make _me_ feel safe. And, like… _I_ have faith in _you_." Embarrassment seem to take over, then, and she turned her face slightly to bury it in the fabric of his jacket.

Once again Frisk had managed to render him speechless, and all Sans could do for some moments was stare down at the crown of her head where it rested against his shoulder. His hands threatened to start shaking at her innocent words and he wondered if she knew the weight they carried. Surely she couldn't, not at such a young age.

An old, familiar saying came to mind again as he watched her: _out of the mouths of babes oft times come gems…_

Frisk's words were both a balm and a wound to the seraphim's soul, but he did not have the energy to examine why. So, instead, he asked, "tell me more about your grandma?"

The girl turned her face up to him again and blinked, distracted from her embarrassment by his unexpected request. "How come?" she asked.

Sans shrugged. "because i'm nosey?"

"But you don't have a nose," Frisk pointed out for the second time that day with a grin.

The seraphim rolled his eyes and poked her own nose in response. "lemme borrow yours then."

Frisk swatted his hand away, still smiling. "Okay, okay," she said when he threatened to do it again. Sans relented and the girl let her head drop to his shoulder once more before yawning and saying, "She was really nice; everyone loved her, not just me." The fond smile that had taken over the girl's face twisted into a little something wicked however when she added, "Well, almost everyone. She used to get in fights with the family across the street that had this cat they didn't take very good care of. She hated that, and one day she just went over there and _stole_ it."

An incredulous laugh escaped Sans, "what?"

"Yeah!" Frisk said, giggling at the memory. "It took three whole days for those people to notice so Grandma called animal control and reported them." The little girl frowned some and said, "Poor kitty was really thin, and grandma had to give it a flea bath. She was so _mad._ I wanted to keep it but we couldn't cuz I'm allergic to cats."

The child's disappointed tone threatened to make Sans laugh, but he restrained himself and patted her shoulder consolingly instead. "what else?" he asked encouragingly.

"She was really funny," Frisk added after a moment's thought. She turned her face up towards his again, a smile lighting her features as she shyly admitted, "You remind me of her when you joke. She was kinda the same way."

"oh?" Sans asked, one brow arching as his smile widened, "woman after my own heart then," he mused lightly.

"She'd have liked you," the girl murmured and dropped her head again, her arm slipping through his as though to anchor herself.

Wanting to keep the conversation light, Sans steered her away from potentially dark alleys of thought by asking, "what'd you guys do for fun? you ever actually work in that cafe of yours?"

"We'd watch movies sometimes," Frisk answered, but was forced to cover her mouth when another yawn overtook her. "Well, Grandma would watch movies and describe what was happening for me," she amended. "I didn't help out in the cafe much, though," she admitted. "But I'd do my homework there after school while Grandma finished up work in the office. The barista always made me hot chocolate with raspberry syrup," she said with a wistful smile for days past. It was a look Sans knew all too well.

"sounds good," he replied, and she nodded.

"Sometimes I got to help make the cookies we sold," Frisk added, definitely starting to drift off now.

A smile tugged at Sans' mouth as he veiled his wings and carefully disentangled himself from her grip so he could get into their backpack. Strapped to the top of it was a sleeping bag Papyrus had managed to roll impossibly thin. It practically exploded out into its full size when the seraphim untied it, making him snatch at it before it flew away of its own volition.

"what kind of cookie's your favorite?" he prompted Frisk when she yawned yet again while he laid out the sleeping bag in the small cave behind them. It was more of a hollow in the rock face, but it'd do to keep the child out of sight from anyone who happened to be passing.

Frisk made a thoughtful little noise that turned into a sleepy grunt when Sans carefully scooped her up in his arms with only a small twinge from his left shoulder. "White chocolate raspberry macadamia nut," she answered, at which he scoffed.

"is that a cookie or a shopping list?"

"It's good!" she objected as he laid her down on the open face of the sleeping bag and proceeded to zip it up around her.

He chuckled low in his chest and carefully removed her crown of flowers and placed it on the ground next to her before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "sure, princess."

"It _is,_ " she grumbled half heartedly and settled in with a sigh. Sans got to his feet but before he could leave the cave, Frisk added, "You're getting better."

"at what?" the seraphim asked and glanced back over his shoulder at her, one brow arched in question.

"Tucking me in," she replied in the wake of another jaw cracking yawn.

Sans chuckled again. "night, kiddo."

"Night, Sans."

The skeleton stepped out of the little cave and stood there for a time, examining the crystal formations that loomed overhead in the dark as he listened to the gradual shift in Frisk's breathing that told him she had finally drifted off into a deep sleep.

He glanced back at her again and noted the gentle rise and fall of her chest before digging in the pocket of his jacket and pulling out his cellphone. He was a little surprised to see that he didn't have any missed calls _or_ texts. Sans had half expected Papyrus to have blown up his phone by that point; the fact that he hadn't was vaguely worrying, especially considering the company he knew his brother was keeping.

As though summoned, the phone in Sans' hand lit up and began to vibrate as a call came in. The seraphim fumbled it in his surprise, but picked up immediately when he saw Papyrus' name on the incoming call list.

"yo," Sans said casually, as though he hadn't just been fretting over the angel on the other end of the line.

"SANS! YOU BROUGHT YOUR PHONE LIKE I ASKED!" the archangel exclaimed delightedly. "I'M SURPRISED-"

"you've reached sans, resident cool guy and punster extraordinaire. leave a message after the beep."

"DAMMIT SANS, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU-"

Sans struggled not to laugh. It was the little things in life, after all. "beeeeeeeep."

A deep, put upon sigh echoed over the line. "SANS, IT'S PAPYRUS, I _TOLD_ YOU TO-"

"gotcha," the seraphim said and laughed. "what's up?"

Papyrus made a sound of disgust. "QUIT BOONDOGGLING, SANS! NOW, WHERE-"

"gotcha again! leave a message after the beep. beeeeeeeep."

The groan his brother released could have shaken mountain ranges. "YOUR VOICE MAIL MESSAGES ARE _NOT_ FUNNY, SANS. I HATE THIS. I AM GOING TO HANG UP AND-"

"kidding! kidding!" Sans hurriedly said as he fought back laughter both for his brother's sake _and_ Frisk's. There was silence on the other end of the line and the seraphim continued, "it's really me, pap," and chuckled. "i just put frisk to bed. or sleeping bag, i guess..."

"YOUR JOKES ARE BAD AND YOU SHOULD _FEEL_ BAD, SANS," Papyrus said eventually.

"probably," Sans agreed with a smile as he pushed his free hand into the pocket of his jacket. "where are you?" he asked after a moment, tone turning serious.

There was another pause from the other end of the line, and the sound of a door closing. "I'M IN WATERFALL," Papyrus answered evasively.

"you're still with undyne?" Sans guessed. His brother's silence only confirmed his suspicion and the seraphim sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he continued, "you won't convince her, pap."

"I MIGHT," the skeleton replied sullenly, though judging by the tone of his voice Sans knew Papyrus was fully aware of just how unlikely this was. Sans also knew there no point in arguing with his brother. Let him try to convince the headstrong Undyne if it made him feel better; maybe it would buy him and Frisk a little extra time to make it to Hotland.

"SHE KNOWS THAT SOMEONE IS HELPING FRISK, SANS," Papyrus continued, breaking the silence that had begun to stretch between them.

San's brow immediately pulled down into a frown. "does she know who?" he asked.

"NO," the archangel replied, and Sans' worry eased a little. If Undyne didn't know it was him helping the human trial goer, then his presence here in Waterfall wouldn't necessarily draw her attention if he was able to get Frisk under cover quickly enough. "I WON'T TELL," Papyrus added. It was unnecessary, but it made Sans smile anyways.

"thanks, bro," he said.

"BE CAREFUL, SANS," the archangel added with a soft sigh of concern, and Sans could vividly imagine the slump of Papyrus' shoulders as he spoke the words. "I'LL TRY TO WARN YOU IF SHE SPOTS YOU, BUT-"

"i know," the seraphim said quickly before his brother could try to promise more. If Undyne figured out Papyrus was trying to interfere in her trial… "thanks," Sans repeated.

"I HAVE TO GO," Papyrus said abruptly, and Sans could hear the sound of a door opening from the other end of the line.

" _Who you talkin' to out here?"_

"NO ONE. I WAS JUST LEAVING SANS A MESSAGE, YOU KNOW HOW HE NEVER-"

The line went dead, and Sans flinched; that had definitely been Undyne's voice. The seraphim closed his flip phone with a quiet snap and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He sighed again and pushed absently at the crease between his brows with the flat of his thumb, as though making it go away would banish his worries as well.

"be _careful_ you big doof," he mumbled absently to himself. A small noise from behind him drew the seraphim's attention back to Frisk, worried he had woken her.

The girl only rolled over and soon slipped back into a deep slumber, though, allowing Sans to relax a little. Deciding that fretting over his brother wouldn't do any good, the seraphim made his way over to the little cave and settled himself down at the entrance.

He knew sleep would evade him as surely as he knew Papyrus was going to get himself neck deep in trouble, but he tried all the same. After a moment, Sans was surprised to find himself joined by Dog. The animal flopped to the ground at his side with a sigh with the demeanor of a creature pretending their presence there together was mere coincidence. The seraphim chuckled and reached out to stroke the dog's back as he dropped his head back against the stone wall behind him.

"fancy meeting you here," he mused.

Dog huffed.

XXXX

"So, where are we _going_ anyways?" Frisk asked out of the blue. "Where's Undyne's trial?"

Sans gave the little girl a sidelong look and weighed his options for a moment before answering. "technically we're in the thick of it. just getting through waterfall _is_ her trial. normally trial goers follow the path, but we're taking the round about way that'll get us to hotland without being noticed if we're careful."

"So I won't have to fight Undyne?" the girl asked hopefully.

"not if I've got anything to say about it," the seraphim said grimly. In a lighter tone he added, "i'd hardly be protecting you if i threw you to the shark like that."

Frisk's brow furrowed quizzically as she deftly avoided a dip in the ground thanks to her constantly tapping stick. "Shark?"

Sans snorted a little, realizing she wouldn't get his joke because she'd never met Undyne. "undyne's an angel, but just like pap and i are skeletons with wings, well… she's basically a fish woman with wings."

The little girl's mouth dropped open. "Like a… Like a _mermaid_?!"

The mental image of Undyne as a proper mermaid nearly made Sans double over with laughter. "no, not really," he wheezed a little as he caught his breath. "she's nearly as tall as pap for one. for another, she's got legs. she's just… she has gills, is blue, and has teeth like a shark." He paused thoughtfully for a moment as he thought of the archangel's golden teeth and their alarming sharpness. "worse than a shark's, maybe," he corrected.

Frisk deflated a little, seeming disappointed. "Oh."

"let down?" he asked, mouth quirking with amusement.

"I was just thinking it'd be neat if she was like Ariel from The Little Mermaid," Frisk said with a wistful sigh.

Sans snorted but made no reply, distracted as he was by the shift in the terrain. There was water ahead, a lot of it, which meant…

"the boardwalk… " he grumbled under his breath as they came in sight of the river at last. They'd crossed over several smaller tributaries so far, but none of them compared to the one they now approached. It was huge, the far shore lost to sight somewhere in the distance through the murk of mist and low light.

At first glance the river did not look particularly fast or dangerous, but Sans was familiar with its deceptive appearance and knew its currents ran far swifter and deeper than they appeared.

"This one's bigger than the others, isn't it?" Frisk hazarded a guess, her head tilting first one way and then the other as she analyzed the sounds that reached her sensitive ears, stick clutched tight in one hand.

"a lot bigger," Sans answered with a frown. "the boardwalk's a bit of a maze too. it branches off and doubles back on itself just to make people's lives difficult."

"Why?" the girl asked with a grimace. "That sounds like a silly way to build a river crossing. Did Undyne make it that way?"

"no, actually," the seraphim said as he took a breath and activated his soul sight. For as far as the powerful, though admittedly limited, magic could reach, he saw no sign of anyone else. "there used to be a settlement here. there's plenty of angels like undyne that like the water, and they lived here for a long time. their market was pretty good too."

"What happened?" Frisk asked with a frown up at the skeleton.

Sans blinked and his sight returned to normal. "there must've been a bad flash flood up on the surface, or wherever the river originates, because a big tidal wave swept downriver one day and washed away all the houses before anyone even knew what was happening. only the boardwalk was left."

"Oh," the girl murmured sadly, brow furrowed at the thought of so many homes destroyed.

The seraphim only grunted. "i don't see anyone, we should go now before undyne shows up," he said and took her hand in his.

Frisk nodded, then turned and whistled quietly, "Dog, come on!"

The Annoying Dog bounded out of a nearby patch of reeds and matched stride with them as they made a bee-line for the start of the boardwalk. Flanked on either side by her companions, Frisk picked her stick up and allowed Sans to guide them rather than feel the way herself. There was a tension to his voice he probably didn't even realize was there telling her just how worried the skeleton really was.

"Stay close, Dog," she murmured to the animal and patted his head, smiling a little when the animal licked it in response.

Once they hit the rough wooden planking of the boardwalk they picked up their pace to something just shy of a trot. Sans might have had them all run, but he didn't want to tire Frisk too soon, especially since he had no idea where he was going. Even when Rivertown had still been there, he'd only visited a handful of times, and never long enough to commit the series of walkways to memory.

It wasn't long before they made their first wrong turn and arrived at a dead end, forcing them to double back and making Sans seriously consider using magic to speed their way. He reigned in the urge, though, knowing very well that doing so might attract unwanted attention. Some angels were quite sensitive to the flow of magic around them, and the seraphim found himself unable to recall if Undyne was one of them.

No, best to play it safe for the time being.

"Maybe Undyne left because she got _board,_ " Frisk joked as time wore on and they found themselves at the midpoint of the river.

" _water_ you talking about, kid-" Sans countered with a distracted grin before he was interrupted by the buzz of the phone in his pocket. "hang on," he said and brought them up short as he fished the thing out and flipped it open. "yo, pap, what's-"

"SANS, SHE'S SPOTTED YOU," Papyrus gasped into the receiver before the line cut out and a jolt of horror shot directly up Sans' vertebrae, sending him into overdrive.

" _shit,_ " he swore with such vehemence that Frisk blanched, knowing immediately that they were in trouble.

"Wh-" she began, but was cut off when the seraphim grabbed her roughly in one arm and dog in the other before breaking into a sprint that took the girl's breath away. She clung tight to the skeleton, ears straining for sound of pursuit.

Sans hit a straight away and pushed himself to the limit _,_ ignoring the pain that shrieked in his left shoulder even as it narrowed his field of vision. They were only halfway across, surrounded on all sides by rushing water with zero room to maneuver and-

The boardwalk ahead of them heaved unnaturally before it exploded in a burst of cyan as spears of light erupted from the river below, forcing Sans to skid to a halt just shy of the new gap. He took several sharp steps back, then turned to face the way they had come just in time to see Undyne drop from the mist filled darkness overhead to land in a crouch a few yards away.

Their gazes met and the archangel's single golden eye went wide while Sans' narrowed, their lights shrinking sharply.

It was all of a moment before Undyne had taken in not only him, but the child he had tucked gracelessly under his right arm. The dog hanging from his left barely merited a glance despite the way it growled and bared its teeth in her direction.

"You?" she said finally as she pushed herself to her feet, broad, midnight blue wings fanning the air briefly before vanishing. " _You're_ the one helping the human?"

She sounded incredulous, and Sans wasn't surprised. Until now it had been a long, _long_ time since he'd ventured from the forests of Snowdin. To not only find him here now, but interfering with a trial, was unexpected to say the least.

"we need to talk," Sans said flatly as he straightened, though he maintained his tight hold on both Frisk and the Annoying Dog, the former of whom rested tense and waiting in his grip without so much as a peep.

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Undyne. "About _what,_ old man? Have you finally lost your damn mind?!"

"about the fact that this child is under my protection," the seraphim answered, ignoring the lesser angel's jab. His stance shifted subtly and he adjusted his grip on his companions as he continued, "she's not fighting you, undyne. she's not fighting anyone. i'm taking her to the capital and pushing her through the barrier myself if i have to."

Undyne was laughing now, so much so that she doubled over and was forced to plant her hands on her knees to keep upright. "Your… _your_ protection?" she wheezed breathlessly. "First human down here in ages, our first chance to _escape_ in ages, and you want to protect her? Just… just let her go?"

Sans lifted his chin and glared coldly at the archangel. "yes," he answered simply.

Undyne finally got herself under control and straightened once more, wiping absently at cheeks stained by tears of mirth. "Damn," she said. "Damn." The archangel raked her long fingers back through her long red hair, a wry smile pulling at full lips to expose frightening rows of golden teeth. "No wonder Papyrus was trying to slow me down, going on about how this human is different. He was protecting _you._ "

The seraphim's jaw tightened at the mention of his brother. "what did you do to him?"

"Y-You better not have hurt him!" Frisk interjected, finally speaking up at the thought of Papyrus having been hurt because of her.

Undyne's full attention went to the child for the first time, and Sans was forced to fight the urge to unveil his wings to shield Frisk from her sight. "Whatcha gonna do if I did, human? Gonna fight me?" she asked and bared her teeth in a vicious grin at the girl. As she spoke, she plunged one hand into the void and drew forth a silver spear with a flourish. It shone even in that dim light, and though it was of simple design, there was a sharpness to its entire being that felt as though it might cut the air itself.

"no," Sans said before Frisk could speak again, voice gone hard and icy at the archangel's taunt. "but _i_ will."

"You?" She exclaimed, laughing again. "You may be a seraphim, Sans, but face it: you're _broken_. You really think you can keep up with me?"

Sans smiled wide and dangerous. "how about we find out the fun way, fish face?"

Undyne threw her head back and laughed once more. "Have it your way, old man," she said. The archangel twirled her spear once, then lunged, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed.

The skeleton was ready, though, and in one fluid movement he spun and hurled Frisk and the Annoying Dog bodily across the gap in the boardwalk. The child screamed and hit the planks on the far side with a thud Sans couldn't afford to worry over. Dog landed rolling and scrambled up onto its paws in a flash before rushing to Frisk where it washed her face worriedly.

His hands free and able to focus on the fight he now faced on the human girl's behalf, Sans sidestepped Undyne's attack and leaped in the direction she had just come from to buy himself room to maneuver. The archangel narrowly avoided going over the edge into the river, the soles of her red boots barely affording her the purchase she so desperately needed.

She'd never been a chatty fighter back on the surface once she got down to business, and Sans could see that that much hadn't changed over the centuries they'd been stuck in the Underground. Undyne didn't waste time reorienting herself to face him, one good eye narrowed as she studied him carefully should he be so foolish as to telegraph his next move.

He wasn't, of course, and Sans simply stood and watched her in turn until the other angel grew impatient and closed in once more. This time, however, she took several long strides and leaped high into the air, granting her the height she needed to flip and dive directly at him spear first.

The skeleton's eyelights followed his opponent's every move, and in doing so knew he would not win; not unarmed, and certainly not crippled as he was now.

Sans took a breath, and for a moment it felt as though time slowed to a crawl. The world went quiet around the seraphim as he watched Undyne's deadly descent from on high, her spear, the spear _he_ had crafted for her, shining like a star in her dark hands. Magic surged up from the deepest reaches of his soul, intent on pouring out into the world to wreak havoc on those who would threaten him and his. This time, though, Sans did not channel the power into a spell. Instead, he let it fill every fiber of his physical being until he felt as though he were made of light. Magic seared through his marrow like liquid gold, burning away two hundred years of pain until he felt only that sweet golden heat that made him want to _sing_...

In that lingering moment before time reasserted itself, Sans saw Undyne's eye widen as she registered the change in the way he stood; no longer hunched, but straight, and proud, and oh so _very_ dangerous.

Grinning, the seraphim shifted his stance, and in a movement that was too fast for even Undyne to follow, punched her in the face with a left straight that made her entire body snap around so her back slammed into the ground at Sans' feet with force enough to splinter the wood of the boardwalk.

"let me be clear, archangel," Sans said in a soft voice that did not mask the steel behind his words. "i may be damaged goods, but i am _not_ broken."

Undyne choked and gasped, winded and bleeding from the blow. It didn't keep her down long, however, as she rolled back over her shoulder and sprang nimbly to her feet in one fluid movement. "We'll see about that," the archangel snapped furiously before unleashing a flurry of pinpoint strikes with her spear the casual observer would have been hard pressed to follow.

Sans, magic still thrumming strong and heady through him, tracked her attack with ease, shifting by only the slimmest margin to avoid being hit until he tired of the exercise and caught Undyne's spear one-handed, its point inches from his chest. The archangel's eye went wide in surprise, then narrowed in fury as she realized he was playing with her.

Undyne's lightning fast punch blindsided Sans and made him release her weapon as he spun with the force of it. His distraction bought her time to jump away, broad, midnight blue wings catching the air with a mighty clap and lifting her well out of his reach. The seraphim recovered quickly, one hand absently cradling his abused jaw as his eyelights traced her progress through the air.

The archangel's wings were shorter than his own, but significantly broader than Papyrus', built more for stealth than speed or endurance. There was no tell tale whisper of wind through her pinions as she moved effortlessly through the air, and for a moment Sans feared she might leave him behind and go straight for Frisk. Even now the child remained at the far edge of the boardwalk with the Annoying Dog, stick clutched tight in her small hands.

He should have told her to run.

As soon as the thought crossed the seraphim's mind it was driven right back out again when Undyne unleashed her next attack. Light bloomed ominously under Sans' feet, and the skeleton threw himself backward a millisecond before spears of magic burst through the wood planking and nearly cast him into the river below.

The seraphim broke into a run, weaving a spell that made the air around him reek of burning ozone. Destruction chased after him, demolishing section after section of the boardwalk until Sans found himself at a dead end that ran parallel to another stretch of yet untouched walkway. He threw himself into the air with a mighty leap towards safety just before the remaining planks fell out from under him. The rubber soles of his sneakers skid across the rough surface of the wood and shrieked in protest when the seraphim spun 180 degrees mid-slide so he faced Undyne head on once more.

Sans gathered himself and spoke one final, crackling word of Enochian before he pointed at his opponent and unleashed a bolt of lightning that cut through the dark like a hot knife.

Swearing violently, Undyne veiled her wings and dropped into the river below with a graceful dive that saved her from destruction by a hair's breadth. When she vanished from sight beneath the surface of the dark, turbulent waters, Sans retreated to the center of the boardwalk and waited for her to reappear.

She didn't take long. The archangel erupted from the river fifty yards away down the stretch of boardwalk Sans stood on, and landed on it with a magically enhanced impact that made the wood ripple unnaturally so it formed a growing wave that threatened to buck the skeleton from its surface. Sans readied himself and watched it come, riding it up as it heaved under his feet, then allowed it to throw him high into the air.

The seraphim flipped when he arrived at the zenith of his meteoric rise and repeated the trigger word of his spell, unleashing another arc of lightning on Undyne. Rather than dodge, this time the archangel lifted her spear and roared a spell that forced the water below them to surge up to counter his attack as though it were being fired from a massive hose somewhere beneath the river surface.

Attracted by the nearer, more conductive material, Sans' lightning met Undyne's water blast with a whipcrack and a brilliant flash that momentarily illuminated the river for a hundred yards around. The entire exchange took only a second, and neither angel noticed the stunned fishes that bobbed up from the depths before being swept away out of sight as Sans dropped out of the air and barrelled headfirst at Undyne. The archangel took her stance and raised her spear, ready for him with a grin that bared her terrifying teeth until her opponent spoke a word that made him drop straight down out of the air and land in a crouch well short of where he should have.

Taking advantage of the other angel's surprise at this sudden change, Sans dashed forward the last few feet and used Undyne's own knee as a step to launch himself into a jump kick that caught her in the jaw and snapped her head back with a frightening crack. The seraphim's momentum carried him through a full flip that bore him several feet back where he landed in a sliding crouch, fingers of his left hand gouging deep tracts in the wood of the boardwalk to slow his progress.

Undyne went ragdoll and hit the planks like a sack of rocks. Sans knew she'd blacked out when her spear vanished, returning to the void until summoned once more. A lesser angel's neck would have broken with the force behind the seraphim's kick, but even that wasn't enough to keep the archangel down long. She stirred almost immediately and swore as Sans stood and slipped his hands back into the pockets of his jacket.

"stay down, archangel," he growled low in his chest as Undyne struggled to push herself upright by degrees, shaking her head occasionally in an attempt to clear it.

Undyne laughed raggedly, "Shut up, traitor."

Sans canted his head to one side as he watched the other angel with narrowed eyes. "there's an old woman buried topside that'd call me hero for protecting her kid," he remarked in a deceptively casual tone. The seraphim automatically sought out Frisk with his eyes as he spoke, and was relieved to see her standing once more on the stretch of boardwalk he'd left her on a few minutes before. The course of his fight with Undyne had brought them full circle until they wound up only a few hundred feet from where they'd begun.

The sound of steel singing through the air snapped San's attention back to his opponent just in time for him to slap Undyne's spear out of the air and send it spinning away into the river.

"Don't ignore your host, it's rude," the archangel said with a bitter smile from where she still sat in the wake of her last ditch attempt to defeat him. Sans released a quiet huff of amusement in spite of himself. "Why are you protecting her, Sans? Just hand her over and I can take her to Asgore. Who knows, maybe we'll finally get out of this hell hole, huh?"

"you know i want out of here worse than most," the seraphim replied flatly. "but our freedom isn't worth that innocent child's life, undyne." His expression darkened. "it wasn't worth the lives of the six that came before her, either."

Undyne stared at him for a long moment, cat like in her cool observation of him while they stared one another down, each seeming to wait for the other boot to drop.

"Right," she said eventually, seeming resigned. "That's too bad."

Finding her strength once more, Undyne pushed herself to her feet as Sans warned, "you won't win; don't test my resolve in this."

A wry, almost tired smile tugged at the archangel's mouth and she said, "I know. It was pretty fun while it lasted, though."

Sans' brow furrowed as he stepped forward, intent on stopping Undyne before she could do… _whatever_ it was she had apparently resigned herself to. He didn't make it more than a pace before she began to speak, Enochian pouring out of her with the force of an ocean tide to put the seraphim in his place.

" _Seraphim Sans, Keeper of the Sixth Trial, Guardian of the Gate, once and future Lord High Judge of the Court of Heaven,"_ Undyne said as she swept a hand out and re-summoned her spear from the depths of the river. " _I bind you."_

Panic roared through Sans from head to toes, burning away the cool confidence his magical augmentation had granted him as he lunged for Undyne's throat, intent on silencing her.

Before he could get within five feet of her, though, a chain of golden light erupted from the air and wound its way around his throat, drawing him up short like a dog on a leash. Stars burst in the seraphim's vision, but rather than drop to his knees, his hands flew to the hinderance at his neck and pulled. Fury sparked and seared away Sans' panic as he fought the binding chain, ignoring the burning agony it inflicted on his hands for his resistance.

"you _dare_ -" he rasped, but she continued, heedless of his righteous indignation.

" _I bind you with words and with deed."_

Two more chains appeared and latched onto the seraphim's wrists, hauling them away from his neck as easily as he might do the same to Frisk. With a roar of effort, Sans threw the full force of his physical and magical strength against his bindings, twisting in an attempt to shatter their hold on him. He could feel them strain and spark as they fought to hold him in place. Just a little more, and-

" _I bind you with the oath you took to uphold these holy trials when first they were forged and agreed upon by the angels of the Underground."_

All three chains drew down tight in unison in an attempt to pin him to the ground, but Sans dropped to one knee instead. Every fiber of his being strained in unison as he attempted to break free; the seraphim's wings unveiled themselves and flared wide, fanning the air in an attempt to steady him and forcing Undyne to take several steps back as the final words of the spell fell from her lips.

" _I adjure you to submit and interfere with the duty assigned me by our Lord Commander, Asgore, no longer!"_

Half a dozen more chains burst into being with a mighty flash of light to tangle themselves around Sans' wings and slam him face down into the boardwalk. An inhuman shriek of agony escaped the skeleton as pain erupted from his ruined limb before he blacked out. While he might have used magic to augment his body, his wings had remained vulnerable and now proved his undoing.

The same desperation that had once driven Sans to throw himself bodily against the magical barrier between the surface and the Underground until he had been rendered permanently flightless returned now, temporarily granting him strength enough to regain consciousness and shout, "frisk, run!"

"Sans!" the child cried out in the distance as Undyne turned from her defeated foe to the prize she felt she had rightfully won.

" _run, dammit!_ " he screamed as his vision began to go dark once more. His fingers scrambled in vain for purchase on the wood surface of the boardwalk and he fought for breath against the chain wound tight around his throat. "she'll kill you! just… just-"

Frisk's heart beat fast and panicky in her chest as Sans' familiar voice petered out and went silent, leaving only the sound of Dog's furious barking and the soft tread of Undyne's approach.

"Come on, kid, give it up and come quietly," Undyne said, suddenly sounding so much closer after a brief moment of silence that Frisk actually startled backwards. She would have sworn the angel was still on the distant section of boardwalk on which she could no longer hear Sans. Her wings were so quiet she hadn't even heard them carry the angel across the water…

The Annoying Dog retreated a few steps and pressed its furry body up against her leg, though Frisk wasn't sure if it was trying to protect her or urge her away. The child's hand found its head and rested there for a moment as she came to a decision.

"You hurt Sans!" she accused the archangel furiously, free hand tightening almost painfully around the now familiar wood of her walking stick. Magic, warm and familiar, pulsed beneath her palm, making tears spring to the child's eyes as she thought of the angel who had crafted it for her. Frisk took a breath and shouted, "You hurt Sans, there's no way I'm going to make things easy for you, you evil fish face!"

With that, the girl spun on heel and broke into a run across the boardwalk, stick moving in quick, practiced arcs in front of her to guide her way. Dog sprang to her side with a yap of approval, and when they reached the first turn, it shepherded her in the right direction to keep her from the river. Realizing what the creature was doing, Frisk grinned frantically and put her fate in the paws of newest, furriest friend.

"C'mon, Dog!" she gasped as they ran helter-skelter through the maze of what had once been Rivertown. "Good dog! You-"

There was a loud thud from a few feet in front of them and Frisk skidded to a sharp halt. The fact that Dog started snarling again told her all she needed to know.

"Nice try, kid," Undyne drawled, sounding bored now as she reached for the child. Frisk took a step back, frowning fiercely as she struggled to weigh her options. There was a gentle but firm pulse from her staff and the child, acting on instinct, swung it up as hard as she could to strike the angel's hand with a sizzle and flash of potent magic. The archangel snatched her hand back with a hiss. "Sonovabitch!" she swore vehemently, so taken off guard by the unexpected attack that she didn't notice the way her prey cocked her head and _listened_ to something approaching from the distance.

By the time Undyne caught the telltale flash of crimson feathers, it was too late. Papyrus cannoned into his fellow archangel with the force of a freight train to slam her into the nearby cliff that loomed over the river.

"Pap!" Frisk cried tearfully, reaching skyward for her friend where she could hear him hovering overhead. "Pap she hurt Sans! I don't know what happened; he told me to run, and-"

"KEEP RUNNING, FRISK," Papyrus instructed her as he watched Undyne extricate herself from the cliff face with slow, purposeful movements that warned her friend of the fury that boiled just beneath her calm exterior. "I'LL SEE TO SANS AFTER THIS AND THEN WE WILL-"

"Don't get cocky, numskull!" Undyne roared as she unveiled her midnight blue wings and threw herself at Papyrus with every ounce of her strength and forced him into the river below with an explosion of water that left Frisk and Dog soaked.

Tears streaming down her face, Frisk forced herself to start moving again, dog at her side. ' _Please let them be okay,'_ she prayed silently as they ran. ' _ **Please**_ _let them be okay! Let them be okay and I'll be good forever, I swear! I'll never lie about doing my homework and eating my vegetables, or throw rocks at the stupid neighbor's car ever again!'_

The water to the right of the boardwalk heaved and burst, showering Frisk with water once more as Undyne and Papyrus reappeared, rapier and spear clashing with the sharp knell of steel on steel. The child yelped and nearly lost her footing as one of the angels crashed to the walkway somewhere behind her with enough force to crack the sturdy planking. There was a second, lighter impact as the other angel arrived and closed the distance between them.

Papyrus' voice rang out clear, bright, and sharp as a winter wind as he unleashed a wave of magic Undyne countered with a spell of her own that forced the river to surge up around all four of them to pull powerfully at their legs. Frisk struggled to keep her feet, but as the river continued to rise, she found herself up to her waist, and then her chest, until she was lifted off her feet all together to flail helplessly against the current.

The spell ended as Papyrus found some way to counter it, and the water dropped, dragging Frisk off the walkway and into the river with a startled gasp. She grabbed wildly for the boardwalk, but her fingers found nothing but more water as she was dragged beneath the surface and swept away by the merciless current.

Having managed to keep its paws up on the planking, the Annoying Dog let out a panicked bark as it watched its friend disappear. The creature turned towards Papyrus and Undyne, yapping its very loudest, but was ignored as the keeper of the third trial knocked the keeper of the second onto his back and bore down on him with her full weight. Papyrus struggled against her, rapier out of reach and both hands wrapped tight around the shaft of Undyne's spear to keep it from piercing his shoulder while he batted ineffectively at her with his wings.

Realizing no help was coming, Dog whined as it spun once, twice, and then a third time in place while Frisk was carried further and further down river. Finally, the animal threw itself into the current, disappearing briefly beneath the waves before bobbing back to the surface to paddle frantically after its friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please remember to leave a review! Your delightful comments telling me what you enjoyed about the chapter is literally all the payment I am asking for in return for hundreds of hours of effort on my part, so please do your part to may my muse! XD
> 
> But man, that cliffhanger tho! Brutal, I know. Lots of fun drama coming next chapter, so look forward to it ;D


	6. The Far Shore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... boy howdy I sure did fall down a rabbit hole of writing and drawing UT stuff since the last time I updated this 8'D I'd meant to just take a short break while I finished up 'Winter in your Bones' and now here we are thousands and thousands of words later... *coughs*  
>  Anyways, enjoy the chapter! I'm going to be trying to work on all my stuff cyclically so we'll see how that goes *snorts*.  
> Remember to drop a review and tell me what your favorite part was! I love hearing that from you guys!

The water of the river was ice cold and stole Frisk’s breath away as she was dragged into the depths by its brisk current. The impulse to breathe in with the shock of it was too much for the little girl to resist and she choked as inky water poured into her lungs. Flailing for something, anything to grab onto, Frisk’s feet found the bottom of the riverbed and she kicked off it. She surged to the surface a moment later, coughing and gasping for breath as her body rejected the liquid that had infiltrated it.

The swimming lessons her grandmother had insisted on every summer since she was five came to Frisk’s rescue, letting the child keep her head above water even if she didn't have the strength to fight its pull as it carried her further and further from the remains of Rivertown.

With her walking stick still clutched tight in one hand, treading water wasn’t easy, but it was doable, allowing Frisk a chance to listen in hopes of finding her way to shore. The roar of the river around her was deafening though, overwhelming her delicate senses. Giving up, she struck out to perpendicular to the current in hopes of finding safe harbor. A distant bark made her hesitate, though, and shout, “Dog?” There was another bark, closer this time and she cried, “I’m over here!”

She could hear panting, and then, there was a tug on her stick, as though something had latched onto it. Frisk kicked hard with her legs to keep her head above water as she used her free hand to reach out and find a small, familiar, furry body that had latched itself onto her walking stick with it’s teeth. “Good Dog!” she gasped as she started treading again, nearly going under when a dip in the river shifted its flow significantly. The Annoying Dog seemed to be kicking as well, and the child found herself tugged back up before more than her nose had been submerged. “Which way’s shore?” she asked it hopefully. The animal hadn’t lead her astray thus far, so all she could do was trust that it would guide her to safety once more.

Dog growled around its mouthful, and started tugging her away towards the right. Figuring that shore must be closest, the little girl followed the animal’s lead and struck off in that direction. It was a battle that was quickly sapping her strength, though. She’d swam plenty growing up, but doing so in a pool was not at all like in a river she was beginning to realize.

Breathing hard and heart beating out a panicked tattoo in her chest, Frisk kept swimming even as she noted a change in the way the river around her sounded. Dog tugged more firmly on her stick and thrashed its little legs even faster as it attempted to escape something, but the child’s trembling, exhausted limbs couldn’t keep up. The water surged again, and Frisk instinctively took a deep breath the moment before they were cast up against a rocky outcropping that slammed her walking stick out of her hand, sending both it and dog spinning away with a yelp.

“Dog!” she cried and clutched desperately at the rocks that had separated them. There was no bark of response this time, and Frisk was quickly whisked away once more when the strength in her chill fingers gave out.

The river must have branched and narrowed, she realized distantly through her haze of growing exhaustion. The crashing of the fast moving water against its banks sounded much closer now, so Frisk threw the last of her strength into an overhead stroke that carried her at an angle downstream until her feet found the river bottom once more. She stumbled ashore, panting and trembling, only to fall to her knees when she reached the shallows.

_run, dammit! she’ll kill you!_

Sans’ frantic supplication echoed in Frisk’s ears and drove the child to her feet once more, rather than allow her to collapse on the shore as she so desperately desired. Her tread was unsteady as she started forward, ears aching with the effort of her listening for any hint of Undyne’s approach.

Terror spiked in her heart at the thought, but sheer determination helped her keep her head. If she was going to find Dog and Sans and Pap, she _had_ to keep away from Undyne. The needs of her body were making themselves known, though, and she knew she didn’t have the strength to go far.

Fortunately, the tall grass she and her friends had encountered many times on their journey through Waterfall thus far grew in abundance here along the river, and Frisk plunged in amongst it with a sense of relief. The child took care to mask her passing as best she could without being able to see, straightening the bent stalks that towered well over her head.

Far enough in that she could reasonably hope to not be seen from the shore, Frisk dropped to the ground and finally allowed herself to rest.

Cold, dripping, and utterly alone, the child sat in silence for a time and prayed that Undyne would not spy her hiding place. Instinctively, Frisk’s hand went to her chest where the pendant of her necklace hung heavy beneath her sodden sweater and fetched it out. Though she had no recollection of what it looked like, the girl’s fingers had already memorized the weight of it in her palm, and the delicate engraving that covered its surface. She knew, she just _knew_ that while the front was covered in some sort of floral vine motif, the back was engraved with writing she could not quite puzzle out. Not for the first time, Frisk tried to decipher it in an attempt to distract herself from her fear of the unknown that now pressed in on all sides. Eventually, though, her thoughts drifted to Dog and she hoped it was alright and had also managed to get ashore. And poor Papyrus; he had been so very brave coming to her aid against his friend. She had been so happy to find Undyne had not hurt him, but now she found herself wondering if that fact had held true after their second altercation.

Sans, though… What had Undyne done to _him_? There had been the sound of chains and a strange spell the archangel had woven over him before he’d begged her to run. Before his voice had cut out and she’d been left to her own devices for the first time since she’d met him.

Tears began to roll down Frisk’s cheeks unchecked and she struggled not to make a sound, though her shoulders shook and her hands trembled with emotion. The child pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tight around them so she curled into a ball, making herself as small and unobtrusive as possible. Eventually, exhausted by her time in the river and the stress of not knowing if her friends were still alive, let alone doing well, Frisk sagged to one side so she lay in the fetal position, tears still trickling freely down her face.

She remained like that for some time until a small sound warned her that she was no longer alone in her grassy hideaway. The child immediately went rigid, but did not dare move for fear of giving her position away. Worse yet, the sound of footsteps on the rocky shore behind her belied the arrival of a second, larger presence that had her covering her nose and mouth to keep from breathing too loud. Panic spiked in the girl’s heart, but she did not move so much as an inch as the steps moved closer and began to wade in amongst the tall grass.

Frisk curled up a little tighter when the new presence stopped barely a yard away, then lunged forward with the speed of a striking snake.

* * *

The world was warm, soft, and smelled faintly of fresh bread as Sans hovered on the brink of unconsciousness. His limbs felt leaden, and even cracking his eyelids felt impossible in that quiet, sublime moment of total peace spent at the edge of oblivion.

He felt so _tired._

There was something he knew he ought to be doing, but for the life of him he couldn’t put his finger on what it might be. Couldn’t even lift his finger. There was a familiar voice calling his name, though, and he inhaled at long last, not having realized until that moment that he had stopped breathing in the first place.

“SANS, WAKE UP!”

The seraphim’s eyes fluttered open, and it took a few seconds, but he was eventually able to focus on the long, pale face hovering over him. It was Papyrus. His brother looked more than a little worse for wear and was clad in his lightweight silver and leather armor, crimson wings half-mantled behind him.

“sup, bro?” Sans rasped, the action of speaking surprisingly painful and finally giving him the energy to raise one hand to his neck. His left brow also hurt, though in a less immediate way that let him ignore it for the time being.

A soft, huffing laugh of relief and disbelief escaped the much larger skeleton, and Sans was surprised to see tears spring to the corners of Papyrus’ eye sockets. “YOU WEREN’T MOVING,” the archangel said, voice quaking with emotion as he brushed them away.

Memories were settling over Sans like so much snow, and he went rigid as it all came back to him. “where’s frisk?” he asked, sitting bolt upright before surging unsteadily to his feet. Power that had burned low in unconsciousness flared back to life and eased his pain once more.

Papyrus reached out to him instinctively, but hesitated at his brother’s question. “SHE-” he began, then paused and dropped his head, the sight making Sans’ stomach drop. The archangel lifted his right hand, and in it was Frisk’s crown of golden flowers, sodden, but still in one piece. Sans took it with trembling fingers that belied the horror his face did not. “I TRIED, SANS,” Papyrus said, voice cracking as his tears began in earnest now, rolling down his angular cheeks to drip off his chin. “I CAUGHT UP TO HER AFTER UNDYNE BOUND YOU, BUT WHILE WE WERE FIGHTING...” The archangel shrugged helplessly, expression agonized. “SHE MUST HAVE GONE OVER THE EDGE OF THE BOARDWALK. HER _AND_ THE ANNOYING DOG.”

The whole world seemed very far away to Sans as Papyrus explained. Though the seraphim did not so much as waver where he stood, he felt rocked to the deepest reaches of his soul.

“where’s undyne now?” he asked, voice unsettling in its lack of emotion.

“SHE MUST HAVE GONE AFTER FRISK ALREADY,” Papyrus said, withdrawn and unnerved by his brother’s unusually calm reaction to his terrible news. There was a storm brewing beneath that cool facade, he knew, but he had no idea just who it might be unleashed on when the time came. “I’M SORRY,” the younger angel said, voice anguished. “UNDYNE GOT THE BETTER OF ME. SHE KNOCKED ME OUT BECAUSE I HESITATED. I DIDN’T-” he hesitated to admit the truth and dropped his head into his hands, unable to meet his brother’s eyes.

Sans watched Papyrus, feeling both exhausted and galvanized simultaneously as his magic roared just beneath the surface of his bones. His brother was right, there was a storm brewing in the seraphim’s mind, but there was no inclination to unleash it on Papyrus, who, good hearted creature he was, had done his best under difficult circumstances. Even Undyne, stubborn thing, had only been doing her duty.

No, the anger blossoming in Sans’ soul was all for himself.

“you didn’t want to hurt her because she’s your friend,” the seraphim finished for his brother. His tone had gentled, drawing Papyrus’ gaze back to his face.

Some of the tension eased from the archangel’s shoulders and he nodded unhappily. He might have said more, but he seemed to notice something about Sans’ face that distracted him. Papyrus rose to his knees from where he had been crouched by his brother’s prone form and reached out to cup Sans’ face in his gloved hands. The seraphim tried to jerk away, but Papyrus held him fast, frowning as he examined his brother’s face.

“what are you-” Sans began.

“YOU’RE RUNNING HOT, AREN’T YOU?” Papyrus accused his brother, suddenly angry and concerned all in the same moment. “YOUR BROW IS CRACKED, I CAN _SEE_ IT!”

This time Sans did pull out of his brother’s hold, though that didn’t stop the accusatory look being leveled at him. “i had to,” the seraphim answered coldly. “you think i could have beat her without doing a hard burn?” he complained, tone bitter now. “not that it mattered. even _with_ magic i’m too fucking useless to-”

Papyrus slapped him. The force of the blow snapped Sans’ head to one side with the force of it and made the seraphim blink in surprise.

The archangel seemed almost as surprised, but when his brother turned to meet his eyes again, he was also completely unrepentant. “I TOLD YOU I’D DO IT,” he said, fierce and defensive. “I TOLD YOU I’D SLAP YOU IF YOU EVER DID THIS AGAIN, SANS! N-NOW TURN IT OFF BEFORE YOU BURN UP OR I’LL DO IT AGAIN!”

He had, Sans remembered then, though the promise was one his brother had made years ago. As the seraphim’s pain had become worse over time, he had fallen back on burning magic to dull it, just as he was doing now so he could keep up with Undyne.

At first it had only been when the pain became too much to bear, just so he could get enough sleep to let him function normally. Sans had never figured out if burning magic had somehow aggravated his old injury over time, making the pain worse than ever; or if the magic had simply lowered his pain tolerance, making what had once been somewhat bearable an inexpressible agony.

Whatever the case was, the habit had eventually become a full time one, an addiction Sans had been unable to deny even as new pains began to crop up in places they had never been before, the magic wearing away at him from within until Papyrus had finally put two-and-two together.

It had been an ugly fight. The only one they’d ever _really_ had, and Papyrus had won.

It’d taken careful watching and what Sans had referred to as ‘flat out bullying’ at the time, but the seraphim had gone cold turkey in the wake of their fight and not given in to the temptation again since.

Until today.

Papyrus could see the magic pulsing in the depths of the new crack in his brother’s left brow ridge. It curled all the way from his empty socket to halfway up his forehead in a thin line. The magic was faint, but it glittered distinctly to a practiced eye, as though Sans’ head were a geode. Crack it open and the wealth within would be exposed for all to see…

The archangel shuddered mentally at the thought, though was distracted by the light’s sudden fading when Sans let the magic return to its source deep within his soul. Its sudden absence left the seraphim feeling cold and empty until the pain returned, hot, fresh, and sharp as ever.

Sans’ vision went dark around the edges, then bled white as he began to shake and struggled not to vomit. He could hear his brother speaking, voice low and gentle, but the words didn’t register beyond their general soothing tone. Eventually, the symptoms faded and left the seraphim aching and nauseous, but back to normal.

“TAKE IT SLOW,” Papyrus chided him gently as Sans pushed himself back to his feet after having dropped into a crouch without realizing it when the magic died.

“we don’t have time,” Sans rasped, wincing a little at the new pain in his neck from where Undyne’s binding spell had caught him. His wrists also hurt, though less sharply thanks to the cushion his jacket had provided them. “we need to split up and find frisk,” he added grimly, the twisting in his guts less for the pain he suffered and more out of fear for the child he’d sworn to protect.

Some job he’d done so far.

“I THINK WE SHOULD STICK TOGETHER,” Papyrus said, frowning at his brother’s suggestion as he too climbed to his feet. He kept a careful eye on Sans as he did, though he seemed just as concerned for the child in question.

Sans shook his head. “i need you to stick with undyne. follow her, let me know if she finds frisk before i do, and do what you can if she does.” Papyrus looked ready to object again, so Sans continued, “you’re the only one that can keep up with her, pap. if you don’t, she could nab the kid and have her back to asgore before we even realize it.”

Eventually, the archangel nodded reluctantly, recognizing the wisdom of this plan. He might be able to find Frisk faster than Sans, But Sans would never be able to keep up with Undyne. It _had_ to be him.

“good,” Sans said, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. It was a long shot if Frisk had fallen into the water, but he’d try anything at this point. Papyrus watched nervously as his older brother quickly scrolled through his contacts list and called Frisk. Both angels felt sick with nerves as the phone rang once, then went automatically to voicemail, making their stomachs drop.

Sans swore vehemently and shoved the device back into his pocket. Papyrus had already taken several steps back and spread his crimson wings in preparation for takeoff. He gave them a deft flick to settle his long feathers, though the seraphim did not miss the small twinge that crossed his brother’s face when he did so.

“you alright?” Sans asked the archangel, guilt tugging at his soul for not asking sooner. Concern for Frisk had overridden that for his brother, though the seraphim knew well that Papyrus could more than take care of himself. Frisk, however… “she get you with that pig-sticker of hers?” he pressed as he stepped forward and gave Papyrus a once over. His little brother looked worn and a bit battered, but had no immediately obvious wounds, which put Sans at least somewhat at ease.

“NO, I’M FINE,” Papyrus said, then scowled. “MY PRIDE IS THE ONLY THING SHE REALLY INJURED,” he said, feathers ruffling at the admission. Undyne had well and truly gotten the best of him, and it was clear that stung the younger archangel.

“never should have made that damn thing for her,” Sans grumbled more to himself than his brother as he reached up and placed a hand on the archangel’s damaged breast plate. It was dented, and had a small puncture where it had been breached by Undyne’s spear. He muttered a string of Enochian, weaving a deft, much practiced spell to repair and reinforce his brother’s armor with the superior craftsmanship he had been so renowned for in centuries past.

“DID YOU THINK THE SAME THING OF MY SWORD WHEN FRISK AND I FOUGHT?” Papyrus asked lightly as he glanced down at his brother’s handiwork and ran an appreciative hand over the now gleaming, unblemished surface.

Sans snorted lightly and stepped back. “no,” he answered. “i knew you didn’t want to hurt the kid.” What he didn’t voice was that the thought of Papyrus _not_ carrying the rapier he had crafted specifically for him sent shivers up his spine. The archangel was his own person, but Sans would be lying if he said knowing Papyrus wielded one of the most powerful weapons he’d ever forged didn’t bring him some small comfort when times were hard and they were separated.

Papyrus’ brow furrowed as he turned his attention down to his brother and said, “UNDYNE MEANS TO KILL FRISK, DOESN’T SHE?”

Sans met his eyes and simply answered, “yes.”

“IF I’D BROUGHT FRISK TO ASGORE… HE WOULD HAVE KILLED HER TOO. TO FREE US.”

“yes,” Sans repeated, more quietly this time, though he did not avert his eyes.

After a moment, Papyrus pulled his gaze from the seraphim’s, expression unreadable, though the set of his shoulders clearly communicated his distress to Sans. “AND YOU-” he began, then hesitated. After a moment, he pushed on, “YOU’RE WILLING TO STAY DOWN HERE FOREVER IF IT MEANS SHE CAN GO FREE?”

“yes,” Sans replied without hesitation. “it may have been asgore’s sins that landed us down here in the first place,” he continued, “but it’s not right for a human, _any_ human, ‘pure of soul’ or not, to pay the ultimate price for our freedom.” The seraphim had allowed his gaze to drift out across the river while he spoke. His hands tightened into fists in the pockets of his jacket, but a small noise from his brother drew his attention back to the archangel. Sans nearly gave a start when he saw the teary-eyed expression on his brother’s face. “w-what?” he asked, wrong footed by this sudden show of emotion.

“N-NOTHING,” Papyrus said and wiped furtively at his eyes, then laughed wetly and admitted, “IT’S JUST… THAT WAS THE MOST… THE MOST **_YOU_ ** THING I’VE HEARD YOU SAY IN A LONG, LONG TIME.” Sans had no idea what to say to that, and his brother just smiled. “YOU’RE RIGHT, OF COURSE. WE’LL PROTECT HER, SANS, NO MATTER WHAT.”

Sans nodded mutely and watched Papyrus take a few steps back and spread his wings wide in preparation for take-off once more.

The archangel hesitated a moment, then said, “ELLIE WOULD BE VERY PROUD.”

Before the seraphim could respond, Papyrus leaped into the air and sped away, a crimson blur that rapidly disappeared into the dark mist that hovered over the river. Fighting back the tide of emotion that threatened to swallow him, Sans gave himself a shake and collected the backpack he’d abandoned at the beginning of his fight with Undyne. He settled it comfortably on his good shoulder before placing Frisk’s crown on his own head for safe keeping, then took a breath before breaking into a run and leaping across the gap in the boardwalk.

Running was an agony the seraphim forced himself to endure as he crossed the river and followed its winding bank in hopes of finding his lost charge.

* * *

There was a loud, startled yelp a handful of feet to Frisk’s right, and the girl tightened herself into an even smaller ball in an effort to not be discovered.

“Oh come _on_! Are you kidding me?!” Undyne’s now familiar voice demanded from somewhere overhead.

“H-hi, Undyne!” a new voice said as it was lifted free of the tall grass and held up to where the much larger archangel could get a good look at it. It was high and reedy, distinctly different from any Frisk had heard since falling into the Underground. Despite the fear that had her heart pounding almost deafeningly in her ears, the girl couldn’t help but think that this new angel sounded… _young._

“Go home, kid,” the archangel growled and lowered her handful back into the grass from which she had plucked it. “I’m on a mission here, I don’t have time to babysit today.”

“A mission?!” the boy (at least Frisk thought it _sounded_ like a boy’s voice) exclaimed excitedly. “Can I help? Please?!”

“ _No,_ ” Undyne answered in a tone that could be described only as beleaguered. “Get home, Raz. If your parents come crying to me that you’ve gone missing again I’m gonna fly back out here and tan your hide, got it?” she threatened.

“That’s what you _always_ say,” ‘Raz’ groused, sounding as though he were kicking absently at the ground with one foot as he spoke.

“YEAH, WELL THIS TIME I’LL DO IT!” Undyne bellowed. There was a gust of wind as she spread her broad wings and sprang into the air in one graceful motion. “Don’t you doubt me, kid! Now get home!”

“I just wanted to help,” Raz grumbled aloud, then sighed hugely and started walking.

Unfortunately, his path through the grass carried him directly into Frisk before she could so much as sit up. He tripped over her and fell face first into the ground with a shout while Frisk yelped and winced when his foot caught her in her already bruised ribs.

Raz sputtered and spit out a mouthful of grass and mud, and Frisk could make out the frantic flailing of his wings as he righted himself. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry!” Frisk gasped as she rolled over and scooted away hurriedly, heart beating frantically in her chest at being discovered. Would this new angel call for Undyne? The little girl trembled as her exhausted body prepared to flee the scene once more. She’d managed to escape the archangel’s notice twice now, surely her luck wouldn’t hold out much longer…

“Oh it’s alright,” Raz said. “You shouldn’t nap in the grass like that, though!” He paused then, seeming to notice the girl’s disheveled state for the first time, asked, “Hey, are you okay? Did you… did you try to swim in the river or something? That’s really dangerous you know.”

There was genuine concern in the angel’s voice, which gave Frisk pause in her thoughts of escape. Once again she was struck by just how young he sounded compared to every other angel she’d run into so far. Not only that, but assuming he wasn’t bent over at the waist to talk to her, Raz sounded to be approximately her own size.

“I-” she began, then paused and sniffled a little as the terror of her afternoon came back full force and made her hands shake. “I fell in and got s-swept away,” Frisk answered as tears pricked the corners of her eyes, making her cover her face and sniff again in an attempt to stifle the emotional display.

“Really?!” Raz asked, sounding horrified as he stepped towards her again and dropped to the ground at her side. “That’s terrible,” he said and wrapped one of his wings around her shoulders in a consoling fashion. “I'm Raziel, but everyone just calls me Raz. What's your name?”

Frisk went rigid in surprise at the gesture from the strange angel, but soon relaxed again when it became obvious he meant her no harm. Raz’s wing was far smaller than Sans’, despite the older angel being only an inch or two taller than herself. Raz’s wing couldn’t be more than a few inches longer than Frisk’s own arm at full stretch, she realized as he patted her shoulder with it in a soothing fashion.

“My name’s Frisk,” she replied unsteadily after a moment’s consideration.

“Frisk? That's a neat name,” Raz said, smile apparent in his voice. “Hey, I bet if I ran and shouted I could get Undyne to come back!” the angel suggested brightly, perking up at his clever idea. “She’s always helping people and-”

“No!” Frisk said, fear and horror lancing through her at the suggestion. She reached out to Raz and gripped his shoulder tightly for emphasis as she continued, “Please, please don’t! Undyne… She’s the reason I fell in the river in the first place. She hurt my friends! I don’t even know-” the child’s tears came in earnest now as her control cracked, and Frisk could no longer disguise her distress. “He said she’d kill me if she found me!” the girl sobbed as she mopped hopelessly at her eyes with the sleeves of her already soaked sweater.

“A-alright, I won’t! I won’t call her,” Raz said, sounding distressed and totally out of his depth as the girl around who he still kept his wing began to weep openly. “Please don’t cry?” he asked hopefully with the air of a boy who’d not had much experience with girls, let alone crying ones.

“I’m s-sorry,” Frisk wept, unable to stop now that she had begun. “I just… I want Sans! A-and Papyrus, and Dog… But I don’t know where they are, and I think U-Undyne really _hurt_ Sans.”

“You’re friends with Sans?” Raz asked, completely wrong-footed by this news. “ _And_ Papyrus?”

Frisk turned towards the angel slightly and nodded, hiccuping a little as she frowned. “Yeah. I mean, unless there’s more than one? My Sans and Pap are skeletons with big wings on,” she hazarded tearfully.

Raz stared at the girl for a long moment, seeming to really _see_ her for the first time since he’d tripped over her and accidentally made her cry. She was a mess. Frisk’s hair hung in wet tangles around her face, and she had a sizeable bruise beginning to bloom on her right cheek, as well as an assortment of other scrapes on her hands. Her clothes weren’t in much better shape after her time in the river; shoes waterlogged, a hole in one knee of her leggings, and a tear starting at the shoulder seam of her sweater. She was, however, undeniably human.

The angel was young enough that he had never seen a human in person before, but he’d watched the same movies that washed down from the surface everyone else had, so he liked to think he knew what he was about in this regard.

“Why were… why were Undyne and Sans fighting?” he asked, having more difficulty getting his head around this idea than the fact that he was speaking to a real live human in that moment.

Frisk wiped her nose surreptitiously on the sleeve of her sweater and shrugged unhappily. “Because I’m human, I guess,” she admitted. “Undyne wants to kill me and take my soul so Asgore can use it to break the barrier, but Sans and Papyrus don’t want her to. They’re trying to help me get home.” Frisk tilted her head slightly, seeming to remember who she was talking to. An uncertain note entered her voice as she asked, “Do you want to kill me too?” She seemed too tired to even begin to make an escape, whatever his answer might be, however.

“What?” Raz asked, wing dropping from the girl’s shoulder in his horror at her straightforward question. “No way!”

The human blinked at his vehemence, and pressed on, better judgement apparently cast to the four winds. “Even though it’d mean you could escape the Underground?”

Raziel scooted away from the girl, brow furrowed and soul in turmoil at the turn the conversation had taken. “I-I like it down here fine,” he mumbled, and it sounded to Frisk as though he curled in on himself some. “I’ve never even _been_ to the surface,” he admitted.

Frisk’s brows went up in surprise as she canted her head to one side. “Really?” she asked. “How old are you?”

“I’m still young compared to everyone else around here. I’m only thirty-one,” the angel answered with a sigh.

“That’s not young!” Frisk exclaimed and laughed, making Raz start backwards. “That’s _old!_ ”

“No it isn’t!” the angel huffed, feathers fluffing irritably. “How old are _you_ then?”

“I just turned ten,” the girl replied and wiped at her quickly drying cheeks.

Raziel made a noise of consternation. “But that means you’re just a _baby!_ ”

“Am not!” Frisk gasped and would have pushed the boy had he been closer. Having apparently reached an impasse, she thought for a moment then suggested, “I guess humans and angels age differently. I mean, I know angels _live_ a lot longer, so that makes sense, right?”

Apparently appeased by this concept, Raziel nodded and smiled, “Yeah, that seems right.”

There was another moment of silence while Frisk brushed a hank of wet hair back from her face, only for her fingers to come up empty when they sought her flower crown out of habit. Horror lanced through her like a knife and she sat bolt upright, startling her companion. “My flowers!” she exclaimed and began to feel around the grass in the vain hope they’d fallen off after she’d entered the grass. When was the last time she’d had them? In Rivertown for sure, but then she’d gone in the river and-

“What flowers?” Raziel asked. “I don’t see any flowers.”

“I had… I had a crown of golden flowers before I fell in the river,” she explained, pantomiming a crown on her head. She moaned unhappily as tears threatened at the corners of her eyes once more. “Ohhh if I lost them...”

Wanting to forestall any more tears, Raziel jumped to his feet and said, “I’ll go check by the river, you stay here, okay?”

“O-okay,” the girl stammered thankfully as the angel did just that. “Thank you.”

While he was gone, she felt around a little more on the off chance Raziel had simply overlooked her crown amongst the grass, but came up empty handed. When he returned a few minutes later she turned to him hopefully, but the lack of immediate exultation on his part told her everything she needed to know.

The crestfallen expression on the human’s upturned face made Raziel wince. “Sorry, I didn’t see anything,” he said unnecessarily, and the sad way she nodded made his failure hurt all the more.

Raziel was well loved by his mother and father, he was old enough to appreciate that (though by angel standards he was not much older than Frisk herself), but being one of only a handful of children born after the Fall, and by far the most recent, finding himself in the position to help someone weaker than him was unusual. His parents were protective of him. Even angels of no relation were protective of him, given the rarity of children in the Underground. The birthrate among angels had been low before the fall, but after it had practically stopped. Raziel didn’t know anyone within fifty years of his own age.

“Maybe if I walked along the shore I’d find them… ” Frisk murmured to herself, pulling Raz from his own thoughts. Her unhappy expression deepened, “But then Undyne might see me… ”

Coming to a decision, Raziel said, “We probably won’t be able to find your flowers, but what if I help you find your friends?”

Frisk gave a start and turned her face up to him, hazel eyes wide. “R-really? You’d do that?” she asked, stunned by the offer. Her expression became one of uncertainty, however, as she continued, “But earlier I heard you saying you wanted to help Undyne.”

Raz grimaced. “Yeah, but I didn’t know she was trying to _kill_ someone! I’d never help with that!” he exclaimed, surprising himself a little with the strength of his conviction in that fact enough to blink. He adored Undyne, practically worshiped the ground she walked on and longed to be just like her someday. He had a brief moment where he wondered if he would have followed her had he realized just what her mission was without having met Frisk first.

The fact that he wasn’t sure gave the young angel pause and made him examine himself more closely than perhaps he ever had in his young life.

Eventually he shook himself free of his thoughts and toed the ground absently as he said, “Besides, you seem nice and you’re lost. Mom always says we should help people in need, it’s how the Creator wanted us to treat each other, angel _or_ human.”

Frisk considered his words and her options for a moment. It didn’t take a lot of mental math to know that she had to either accept this young strangers help, or risk crossing Waterfall on her own without her friends, her dog, or even her handy walking stick. She wasn’t the sort of girl to back down from a challenge just because she was blind, but she was smart enough to know when the proverbial deck was stacked against her.

Even that aside, though, Raziel seemed as nice as he apparently thought she was. He had a sweetness to him that put Frisk in mind of Papyrus, and made her more inclined to trust him than she might have otherwise been.

“Alright,” she said and smiled up at him. “I’d really like that.”

Raziel felt his soul flare brightly in his chest when Frisk looked at him, and in that moment he knew he was making the right choice helping her rather than turning the girl into Undyne. “Great!” he said, flushed with excitement right up until he realized he had no idea where they ought to go, or how to get there. “So, where’d you see Sans and Papyrus last?” he asked, figuring that was as good a place as any to start.

Frisk got to her feet and brushed herself off as best she could and answered, “Sans called it Rivertown; or what used to be Rivertown, I guess.”

“Oh, I know where that is!” Raziel said brightly, though his enthusiasm subsided some as he continued, “Undyne spends a lot of time there… I bet Sans and Papyrus wouldn’t stay there once they realized you were gone.”

Frisk nodded thoughtfully at this, certain he was right. “But we can’t just search all of Waterfall, can we?” she asked with a frown, though. “Could you… could you carry us both with your wings?” the girl hazarded. She knew his wings were quite small, but she had no idea how that might affect an angel’s flight, considering they all seemed capable of using magic.

“No,” the angel admitted unhappily, sounding a little embarrassed by the fact. “I’m too young. I can’t even carry myself yet,” he added with a sigh.

“Well,” Frisk said, chewing one of her nails absently as she thought. “I know where we were _going._ Maybe when Sans and Pap don’t find me anywhere in Waterfall, they’ll go to Hotland like we’d planned?”

The girl very resolutely did not allow herself to add ‘ _if they’re still alive_ ’. She might start crying and never stop if she did, and she had to be strong if she was going to get out of the Underground in one piece.

“Yeah, I bet they would!” Raziel agreed eagerly, nodding emphatically at her suggestion. “There’s only one road into Hotland, too, so that makes it a lot easier!” He grinned and added, “I even remember how to get there!”

A huge surge of relief washed over Frisk and gave her a renewed sense of purpose and the energy to keep moving on. “Oh good,” she said happily. A thought occurred to her then, and her smile faded a little. “Before we go, though I should probably tell you something, though.”

“What’s that?” Raz asked, head cocked curiously to one side. Frisk could hear the way he flexed then settled his wings to neaten his feathers while he waited for her pensive reply.

“I’m blind,” the child blurted out. “Normally I don’t have to tell people, but angels never seem to notice on their own, and I thought you should know.” She hesitated again, then asked, “Will you still help me? I mean, I-I understand if you don’t want to… ”

Raziel stared at her for a moment, actually having to process the concept. As Sans had pointed out to the child before when _he_ had had the revelation, blindness wasn’t really a thing among angels. Raz was, at least, familiar with the concept, even if it was a foreign one. “Of course I’ll still help!” he exclaimed, suddenly happier than ever that he’d agreed to be her guide. He didn’t think his mother would have ever let him come home again if he’d left a blind girl to wander around Waterfall by herself, human or not.

Frisk’s narrow shoulders sagged with relief and she smiled once more. “Thanks,” she said.

“No problem,” he said with a careless shrug and a sunny smile. The gesture brought something else to mind, though, and it occurred to him that if she was blind, then he wasn’t the only one that needed to be told something. “Oh, uh, I guess you probably don’t realize then.” The girl tilted her head inquisitively and he pushed, “I have wings but I don’t have any arms.”

Frisk blink. “Oh,” she said, then smiled. “Okay, good to know.” Good thing he had told her before she’d asked to hold his hand, that would have seemed rude for sure, just like when Sans thought she was making a joke about him being a skeleton when she complained about his hand being boney when they first met. The girl turned one way, and then the other before asking, “So, which way?”

Raziel considered their surroundings, then said, “Come on, we’ll go this way,” and started off. He brought himself up short when he realized she couldn’t see the way he pointed with his wing, but she seemed to have no trouble following. Still, the ground was uneven, and he couldn’t help but feel concerned. “Do you, uh… do you wanna hold my wing maybe?” He suggested, feeling shy all of a sudden, not wanting to seem like he was babying her, but worried all the same. The angel had a sudden epiphany on how his parents must feel about _him,_ and it granted him a new sympathy for the fine line they had to tread in letting him do things for himself while also keeping him safe. Discomfited, he set aside the thought and pressed on, “It’s just that the ground gets pretty squishy and uneven here, so-”

“Okay,” Frisk answered abruptly to save the angel from his own awkwardness, a little smile playing across her lips as she extended her hand.  
  
“Okay,” he repeated with a sigh of relief before pressing the wrist joint of his wing into her palm, where she gripped it lightly. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The river water was ice cold and soothed the terrible pounding in Sans' head as he splashed it across his face before foregoing the attempt and simply plunging his entire head into the water. Laying on the riverbank among the chest high reeds, Sans held his head below the surface for as long as he could, allowing the dull roar of the currant to drown out the panicked voices in his head screaming at him to keep moving, that now was no time for a break no matter that he had exhausted himself to a trembling wreck since leaving Rivertown hours before.

Eventually, when he could hold his breath no longer, the seraphim surfaced once more, gasping and coughing as water poured from his mouth and eye sockets and soaked the hood of his sweatshirt. His fingers dug into the soft earth below him as he pushed himself up onto his knees, then dropped back to sit in the grass, chest heaving as he sucked in sweet, heady breaths of the humid air.

Sans' head still hurt, but less sharply than before, which was a blessing, even if his left shoulder continued to ache something fierce. Sharp, hot pain lanced all the way down to his fingertips and left his hand with a fine tremor he couldn't seem to be rid of. The serarphim frowned at the offending appendage and gave it a sharp shake, though it did no good, making him huff with annoyance.

He should keep moving the little voice in the back of his head insisted, a raw and anxious presence that would not let Sans relax. The skeleton pushed it aside and forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't press on further like this, even he had to have rest, especially if he was going to be any good to Frisk when he found her.

 _If_ he found her.

The treacherous thought was shoved down hard. The temptation to do another hard burn was a second presence in his mind that Sans was having even more trouble ignoring than his anxiety. He knew if he started now, though, he'd never stop, and Papyrus would never forgive him.

Wouldn't the end justify the means, though?

More deep breaths followed the first as Sans lay back in the grass and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets hard enough to make him see stars. He needed to rest, catch his breath. Just for a few minutes. If only the voices in his head would fucking cooperate.

He must have dozed off for a little while as the seraphim jerked back into waking on the tail end of a dream that slipped from memory like so much smoke between his fingers. Sans checked his phone and realized he'd been out for the better part of an hour, and lunged to his feet. The sudden change in orientation made his head swim, but he pushed through it and started walking at a quick pace along the riverbank after resettling his backpack on his right shoulder.

The pain had ebbed a little further, for which he was grateful, and it cleared his mind some for more coherent thoughts of where he should search next.

Papyrus had been keeping him updated with texts on where Undyne was currently searching, which was to the East for now, leaving Sans clear to search the West. The problem was that the river split not just once, but _many_ times just South of Rivertown, and Papyrus had not seen which branch Frisk had gone down. That left a lot of ground to cover, and him unable to fly, but all he could do was pray to the creator he found her before Undyne.

The nasty little voice returned and suggested, not for the first time since the search began, that he should just make a bee-line for the dump. There was no way a ten year old blind human girl had managed to survive the river. He should go there just for closure, get the agony of her loss over as quickly as possible rather than wasting time on foolish hope. It had been several hours since they'd been separated. No doubt her battered, broken little body would have made it to the dump by now, cast into the depths of the Underground like so much other flotsam and jetsam that washed down from the surface.

The mental picture that presented itself to his all too creative imagination drove the wind from Sans and made him shamble to a halt at the crest of a grassy hill overlooking the river delta. Unable to force the dark thoughts down on his strength alone anymore, the seraphim grew desperate for a little mental quiet and focus. Without hesitation, Sans dropped his bag and unveiled his wings, then reached up and grabbed the base of his injured wing with his good hand and gripped it tight.

The pain that burned along his nerves made the seraphim suck in a ragged breath as his vision went white, scattering his dark thoughts like so many leaves on the wind. Trembling at the onslaught, Sans maintained the contact for a count of three before releasing himself, blinking furtively against the spots in his vision. When he could see again, the skeleton veiled his wings and picked up his bag before starting off again. His left arm throbbed in spite of his assaulted limb’s absence, and for once Sans used the pain as a motivator rather than a detractor.

 _‘keep walking and keep your mind clear so you don’t get hurt again,’_ he told himself tersely. It worked for awhile, though the voices threatened to return after a time. In response to this lesser bother, he inflicted a lesser pain by digging a fingertip into the freshly formed crack in his brow. It wasn’t the healthiest coping tactic (he knew Papyrus would be horrified), but for now it was his best option seeing as his usual involved disappearing into the forest for days on end until he lost track of himself and the general flow of time for a little while.

He couldn’t afford that kind of mental breakdown right now, so he made do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and your patience waiting for this to update! Hopefully the next chapter won't take quite so long, heh.  
> Remember to drop a review and tell me what your favorite part was! I love hearing that from you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this first chapter! Make sure to drop a review if you enjoyed, they really do help keep me inspired to write!  
> Thanks also to my sister, nighttimelights for editing!


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